Classic Poem

CXLVI

If with complaint the pain might be expressed
That inwardly doth cause me sigh and groan,
Your hard heart and your cruel breast
Should sigh and plain for my unrest;
And though it were of stone
Yet should remorse cause it relent and moan.

But since it is so far out of measure
That with my words I can it not contain,
My only trust, my heart's treasure,
Alas, why do I still endure
This restless smart and pain
Since if ye list ye may my woe restrain?