Tystirus Complaining

BReak sadded heart, burst thou with griefs complaint
Let thy laments
The hardest marble unto tears provoke:
Make flints to weep
Increase the deep
With drops expressed from that cruell stroke.

Wounded I lye, and suffer from that hand
That gave the wound
Unto my bleeding Soul. And from those eyes.
Light'nings proced
Which strike me dead
Nor w'thout she raise me can I ever rise.

Torment of cruell silence breeds this woe
I undergoe;
My tongue is fetter'd, and I dare not speak
Although my heart
Feels deadly smart
And swell'd with sorrow at the last must break.

But here's a joy which feeds my sadded mind
None hath divin'd
The cause of my sadnesse and distress,
First shall my Love
My murther prove
Before, to wrong her, I my Love confess.