th her lacke I might tormented be.
Sith then they so have ordred, I will pay
Penance to her, according* their decree, 370
And to her ghost doe service day by day.
[* _According_, according to.]

"For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage,
Throughout the world from one to other end,
And in affliction waste my better age:
My bread shall be the anguish of my mynd, 375
My drink the teares which fro mine eyes do raine,
My bed the ground that hardest I may fynd;
So will I wilfully increase my paine.

"And she, my love that was, my saint that is,
When she beholds from her celestiall throne 380
(In which shee ioyeth in eternall blis)
My bitter penance, will my case bemone,
And pittie me that living thus doo die;
For heavenly spirits have compassion
On mortall men, and rue their miserie. 385

"So when I have with sorrow satisfyde
Th'importune Fates which vengeance on me seeks,
And th'heavens with long languor pacifyde,
She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke,
Will send for me; for which I daily long, 390
And will till then my painfull penance eeke,
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.

V.

"Hencefoorth I hate whatever Nature made,
And in her workmanship no pleasure finde,
For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade 395
So soone as on them blowes the northern winde;
They tarrie not, but flit and fall away,
Leaving behind them nought but griefe of minde,
And mocking such as thinke they long will stay.

"I hate the heaven, because it doth withhould 400
Me from my love, and eke my love from me;
I hate the earth, because it is the mould
Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie;
I hate the fire, because to nought it flyes;
I hate the ayre, because sighes of it be; 405
I hate the sea, because it teares supplyes.

"I hate the day, because it lendeth light
To see all things, and not my love to see;
I hate the darknesse and the dreary night,
Because they breed sad balefulnesse in mee; 410
I hate all times, because all times doo fly
So fast away, and may not stayed bee,
But as a speedie post that passeth by.

"I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with crying;
I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld mine eares;
I hate to tast, for food withholds my dying;