Sufficed not, madame, that you did tear


Sufficed not, madam, that you did tear
My woeful heart, but thus also to rent
The weeping paper that to you I sent
Whereof each letter was written with a tear?

Could not my present pains, alas, suffice
Your greedy heart, and that my heart doth feel
Torments that prick more sharper than the steel,
But new and new must to my lot arise?

Use then my death. So shall your cruelty,
Spite of your spite, rid me from all my smart
And I no more such torments of the heart
Feel as I do. This shalt thou gain thereby.
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