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pain paints out my love in doleful verse,

The lively glass wherein she may behold it;

My verse her wrong to me doth still rehearse,

But so as it lamenteth to unfold it.

Myself with ceaseless tears my harms bewail,

And her obdurate heart not to be moved;

Though long-continued woes my senses fail,

And curse the day, the hour when first I loved.

She takes the glass wherein herself she sees,

In bloody colours cruelly depainted;

And her poor prisoner humbly on his knees,

Pleading for grace, with heart that never fainted.

She breaks the glass; alas, I cannot choose

But grieve that I should so my labour lose!