LIX

    Do I unto a cruel tiger play,
      That preys on me as wolf upon the lambs,
      Who fear the danger both of night and day
      And run for succour to their tender dams? 
    Yet will I pray, though she be ever cruel,
      On bended knee and with submissive heart. 
      She is the fire and I must be the fuel;
      She must inflict and I endure the smart. 
    She must, she shall be mistress of her will,
      And I, poor I, obedient to the same;
      As fit to suffer death as she to kill;
      As ready to be blamed as she to blame. 
    And for I am the subject of her ire,
    All men shall know thereby my love entire.

    LX

    O let me sigh, weep, wail, and cry no more;
    Or let me sigh, weep, wail, cry more and more! 
    Yea, let me sigh, weep, wail, cry evermore,
    For she doth pity my complaints no more
    Than cruel pagan or the savage Moor;
    But still doth add unto my torments more,
    Which grievous are to me by so much more
    As she inflicts them and doth wish them more. 
    O let thy mercy, merciless, be never more! 
    So shall sweet death to me be welcome, more
    Than is to hungry beasts the grassy moor,
    As she that to affliction adds yet more,
    Becomes more cruel by still adding more! 
    Weary am I to speak of this word “more;”
    Yet never weary she, to plague me more!

    LXI

    Fidessa’s worth in time begetteth praise;
      Time, praise; praise, fame; fame, wonderment;
      Wonder, fame, praise, time, her worth do raise
      To highest pitch of dread astonishment. 
    Yet time in time her hardened heart bewrayeth
      And praise itself her cruelty dispraiseth. 
      So that through praise, alas, her praise decayeth,
      And that which makes it fall her honour raiseth! 
    Most strange, yet true!  So wonder, wonder still,
      And follow fast the wonder of these days;
      For well I know all wonder to fulfil
      Her will at length unto my will obeys. 
    Meantime let others praise her constancy,
    And me attend upon her clemency.

    LXII

    Most true that I must fair Fidessa love. 
    Most true that fair Fidessa cannot love. 
    Most true that I do feel the pains of love. 
    Most true that I am captive unto love. 
    Most true that I deluded am with love. 
    Most true that I do find the sleights of love. 
    Most true that nothing can procure her love. 
    Most true that I must perish in my love. 
    Most true that she contemns the god of love. 
    Most true that he is snared with her love. 
    Most true that she would have me cease to love. 
    Most true that she herself alone is love. 
    Most true that though she hated, I would love. 
    Most true that dearest life shall end with love.