Shall I striue with wordes to moue, when deedes receiue not due regard ? Shall I speake, and neyther please, nor be freely heard ? Griefe alas though all in vaine, her restlesse anguish must reueale : Shee alone my wound shall know, though shee will not heale. All woes haue end, though a while delaid, our patience prouing : O that times strange effects could but make her louing. Stormes calme at last, and why may not shee leaue off her frowning ? O sweet Loue, help her hands my affection crowning. I woo'd her, I lou'd her, and none but her admire. O come deare ioy, and answere my desire.