Classic Poem

CCXXXI

Mourning my heart doth sore oppress
That force constraineth me to complain;
For whereas I should have redress,
Alas, I cannot be loved again.

I serve, I sue, all of one sort.
My trust, my travail is all in vain
As, in despair without comfort,
Alas, I cannot be loved again.

Perdie, it is but now of late.
Not long ago ye knew my pain.
Will your rigour never abate?
Alas, when shall I be loved again?

It is both death and deadly smart.
No sharper sorrow can none sustain
Than for to love with faithful heart,
Alas, and cannot be loved again.