The Plaintiff

I sue to thee, May, I sue to thee, Summer-mirth,
I sue to thee, broad and glittering Heath,
I sue to thee, Clover bright to the eyes,
I sue to thee, Wood, and Sun that shinest on the earth,
I sue to thee, Venus, sick to death,
My love torments me in such wise.
If I by you were aided,
I think my mistress might be well persuaded
To guide herself by Love's decree.
For God's sake let me tell you all my sorrow,
And help me 'scape this misery!

"How doth she use thee? State thine accusation,
So that we put her not to shame
Without just cause; that is but fair."
Her grace I win in fond imagination,
But if I make a further claim,
She says that while I live I ne'er
Shall get from her such treasure;
And that is death to love's true ease and pleasure.
Alas, that e'er I saw her face!
To me, who love her with a love so faithful,
She deals discomfort and disgrace.

"I, May, will issue orders to my flowers,
The roses red, the lilies white,
To close themselves when she is by."—
"So will I, Summer-mirth, use all my powers
That the small birds, who give delight,
May hush their song, if she be nigh."—
"I, the broad Heath, will watch her.
And when she comes for my bright flowers, will catch her
And hold her prisoner fast.
Be war declared by us upon thy lady!
So must she show thee grace at last."—

"I, Clover bright, will shine so fiercely on her,
That if her eyes my flowers shall see,
She'll look asquint at such a glare."—
"I, Woodland green, will fling my leaves upon her,
If e'er she come to visit me,
Unless she give thee greeting fair."—
"I, Sun, will pierce with fervour
Her heart and brain; no sunshade shall preserve her
From being plagued by such a heat,
Unless she quit thee of thy heart's affliction
And show thee love and friendship sweet."—

"I, Venus, if she will not use thee better,
Will render hateful in her sight
All things that love hath framed so fair."—
Nay, I would rather die at once than let her
Be parted so from all delight,
Though she hath grieved me past compare.
"Let me avenge thine anguish,
And in the paths of pleasure shall she languish
And deem them wearisome and sad."—
My tender love could ne'er endure such harshness;
Nay, let me die, so she be glad!