A dole full passion

OH tyred heart, too full of sorrowes,
In night-like daies, despairing morrowes,
How canst thou thinke, so deepely greeued,
To hope to liue to be relieued

Good fortune hath all grace [...] [...],
And cruell care hath too much torne thee:
Vnfaithfull friends do all deceiue thee,
Acquaintance all vnkindly leaue thee.

Beauty out of her booke doth blot thee,
And loue hath vtterly forgot thee,
Patience doth but to passion moue thee,
While only honour liues to loue thee.

Thine enemies all ill deuise thee,
Thy friends but little good aduise thee:
And they, who most doe duety owe thee,
Doe seeme as though they doe not knowe thee.

Thus pittie weepes to looke vpon thee,
To see how thou art woe begon thee:
And while these passions seeke to spill thee,
Death but attends the houre to kill thee.

And since no thoughte is comming to thee,
That any way may comfort doe thee,
Dispose thy thoughtes, as best may please thee;
That Heauen, of all thy Hell, may ease thee.