Blacke pytchy Night, companyon of my woe,
The Inne of care, the Nurse of drery sorrow,
Why lengthnest thou thy darkest howres so,
Still to prolong my long tyme lookt-for morrow?

Thou Sable shadow, Image of dispayre,
Portraite of hell, the ayres black mourning weed,
Recorder of revenge, remembrancer of care,
The shadow and the vaile of every sinfull deed.

Death like to thee, so lyve thou still in death,
The grave of joy, pryson of dayes delight,
Let heavens withdraw their sweet Ambrozian breath,

My hart the Anvile where my thoughts doe beate,
My words the hammers, fashioning my desires,
My breast the forge, including all the heate,
Love is the fuell which maintaines the fire.

My sighes, the bellowes which the flame increaseth,
Filling myne eares with noyse and nightly groning,
Toyling with paine, my labour never ceaseth,
In greevous passions my woes styll bemoning.

Why doe I speake of joy, or write of love,
When my hart is the very Den of horror,
And in my soule the paynes of hell I prove,
With all his torments and infernall terror.

Myne eyes want teares thus to bewayle my woe,
My brayne is dry with weeping all too long,
My sighes be spent with griefe and sighing so,
And I want words for to expresse my wrong.

But still distracted in loves Lunacy,
And Bedlam like thus raving in my griefe,
Now rayle upon her hayre, now on her eye,
Now call her Goddesse, then I call her thiefe,

Plac'd in the forlorne hope of all dispayre,
Against the Forte where Beauties Army lies,
Assayld with death, yet arm'd with gastly feare,
Loe thus my love, my lyfe, my fortune tryes.

Wounded with Arrowes from thy lightning eyes,
My tongue in payne, my harts counsels bewraying,
My rebell thought for me in Ambushe lyes,
To my lyves foe her Chieftaine still betraying.

Record my love in Ocean waves (unkind,)
Cast my desarts into the open ayre,
Commit my words unto the fleeting wind,
Cancell my name, and blot it with dispayre,

Rare of-spring of my thoughts, my deerest Love,
Begot by fancy, on sweet hope exhortive,
In whom all purenes with perfection strove,
Hurt in the Embryon, makes my joyes abhortive.

And you my sighes, Symtomas of my woe,
The dolefull Anthems of my endlesse care,
Lyke idle Ecchoes ever aunswering: so,
The mournfull accents of my loves dispayre.

And thou Conceite, the shadow of my blisse,
Declyning with the setting of my sunne,
Springing with that, and fading straight with this,
Now hast thou end, and now thou wast begun.

O thou unkindest fayre, most fayrest shee,
In thine eyes tryumph murthering my poore hart,
Now doe I sweare by heavens, before we part,
My halfe-slaine hart shall take revenge on thee.

Thy Mother dyd her lyfe to Death resigne,
And thou an Angell art, and from above,
Thy father was a man, that will I prove,
Yet thou a Goddesse art, and so divine.

And thus if thou be not of humaine kinde,
A Bastard on both sides needes must thou be,
Our Lawes alow no Land to basterdy:
By natures Lawes we thee a Bastard finde.

Die, die, my soule, and never taste of joy,
If sighes, not teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can move,
If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,
And kindnes, be unkindnes in my love.

Then with unkindnes, Love revenge thy wrong,
O sweet'st revenge that ere the heavens gave,
And with the Swan record thy dying song,
And praise her still to thy untimely grave.

So in loves death shall loves perfection prove,

If chaste and pure devotion of my youth,
Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres,
Unfained love, in naked simple truth,
A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares:

Or if a world of faithfull service done,
Words, thoughts, and deeds, devoted to her honor,
Or eyes that have beheld her as theyr sunne,
With admiration, ever looking on her.

A lyfe, that never joyd but in her love,
A soule, that ever hath ador'd her name,
A fayth, that time nor fortune could not move,
A Muse, that unto heaven hath raisd her fame.

I ever love, where never hope appeares,
Yet hope drawes on my never-hoping care,
And my lives hope would die but for dyspaire,
My never certaine joy, breeds ever-certaine feares.

Uncertaine-dread, gyves wings unto my hope,
Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare,
As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,
Yet feare gyves them more then a heavenly scope:

Yet thys large roome is bounded with dyspaire,
So my love is styll fettered with vaine hope,
And lyberty deprives hym of hys scope,
And thus am I imprisond in the ayre;

Sweete sleepe so arm'd with Beauties arrowes darting,
Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth,
Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes darknes cleereth,
Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting.

Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding,
Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed,
Sleepes aged coldnes, with Beauties fire warmed,
Sleepe with delight, Beauty with love rewarding.

Sleepe and Beauty, with equall forces stryving,
Beauty her strength unto sleepes weaknes lending,