Beauty is but a painted hell

Beauty is but a painted hell:
Ay me, ay me!
She wounds them that admire it,
She kills them that desire it.
Give her pride but fuel,
No fire is more cruel.

Pity from every heart is fled:
Ay me, ay me!
Since false desire could borrow
Tears of dissembled sorrow,
Constant vows turn truthless,
Love cruel, Beauty ruthless.

Sorrow can laugh, and Fury sing:
Ay me, ay me!
My raving griefs discover
I lived too true a lover.
The first step to madness
Is the excess of sadness.