To make an end of all this strife

CLXXXVII

To make an end of all this strife,
No longer time for to sustain,
But now with death to change the life
Of him that lives always in pain —
Despair such power hath in his hand
That helpeth most, I know certain,
May not withstand.

May not withstand that is elect
By Fortune's most extremity!
But all in worth to be, except
Withouten law or liberty —
What vaileth then unto my thought?
If right can have no remedy
There vaileth naught.

There vaileth naught, but all is vain.
The fault thereof may none amend
But only death, for to constrain
This spiteful hap to have an end.
So great disdain doth me provoke
That dread of death cannot defend
This deadly stroke.

This deadly stroke, whereby shall cease
The harboured sighs within my heart!
And for the gift of this release
My hand in haste shall play his part
To do this cure against his kind —
For change of life from long desert
To place assigned.

To place assigned for evermore!
Now by constraint I do agree
To loose the bond of my restore
Wherein is bound my liberty.
Death and despair doth undertake
From all mishap now hardily
This end to make.
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