1 Shall I sue, shall I seek for grace ?
shall I pray shall I prove ?
Shall I strive to a heavenly joy,
with an earthly love ?
Shall I think that a bleeding hart
or a wounded eye,
Or a sigh can ascend the clouds,
to attain so hie.
2 Silly wretch forsake these dreams,
of a vain desire,
O bethinke what hie regard,
holy hopes doe require.
Favor is as fair as things are,
treasure is not bought,
Favor is not won with words,
nor the wish of a thought.
3 Pity is but a poor defense,
for a dying hart,
Ladies eyes respect no moan,
in a mean desert.
She is to worthy far,
for a worth so base,
Cruel and but just is she,
in my just disgrace.
4 Justice gives each man his own
though my love bee just,
Yet will not she pity my grief,
therefore die I must.
Silly hart then yield to die,
perish in despair,
Witness yet how fain I die,
When I die for the fair.
