“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; 416 I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with teares; I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left; I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with feares: So all my senses from me are bereft. 420 “I hate all men, and shun all womankinde; The one, because as I they wretched are; The other, for because I doo not finde My love with them, that wont to be their starre. And life I hate, because it will not last; 425 And death I hate, because it life doth marre; And all I hate that is to come or past. “So all the world, and all in it I hate, Because it changeth ever to and fro, And never standeth in one certaine state, 430 But, still unstedfast, round about doth goe Like a mill-wheele in midst of miserie, Driven with streames of wretchednesse and woe, That dying lives, and living still does dye. “So doo I live, so doo I daylie die, 435 And pine away in selfe-consuming paine! Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie, And feeble spirits in their force maintaine, Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong My wearie daies in dolour and disdalne! 440 Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong. IV. “Why doo I longer live in lifes despight, And doo not dye then in despight of death! Why doo I longer see this loathsome light, And doo in darknesse not abridge my breath, 445 Sith all my sorrow should have end thereby, And cares finde quiet! Is it so uneath* To leave this life, or dolorous to dye? [* _Uneath_, difficult.] “To live I finde it deadly dolorous, For life drawes care, and care continuall woe; 450 Therefore to dye must needes be ioyeous, And wishfull thing this sad life to forgoe. But I must stay; I may it not amend; My Daphne hence departing bad me so; She bad me stay, till she for me did send. 455 “Yet, whilest I in this wretched vale doo stay, My wearie feete shall ever wandring be, That still I may be readie on my way When, as her messenger doth come for me; Ne will I rest my feete for feeblenesse, 460 Ne will I rest my limmes for frailtie, Ne will I rest mine eyes for heavinesse. “But, as the mother of the gods, that sought For faire Euridyce, her daughter dere, Throughout the world, with wofull heavie thought, So will I travell whilest I tarrie heere, 466 Ne will I lodge, ne will I ever lin*, Ne, when as drouping Titan draweth nere To loose his teeme, will I take up my inne**. [* _Lin_, cease.] [** _Inne_, lodging.]