If so I seek the shades, I presently do see
The god of love forsakes his bow and sit by me;
If that I think to write, his Muses pliant be,
Of so I plain my grief, the wanton boy will cry,
If I lament his pride, he doth increase my pain;
If tears my cheeks attaint, his cheeks are moist with moan;
If I disclose the wounds the which my heart hath slain,
He takes his fascia off, and wipes them dry anon.
If so I walk the woods, the woods are his delight,
If I myself torment, he bathes him in my blood;
He will my soldier be if once I wend to fight,
If seas delight, he steers my bark amid the flood.
In brief, the cruel god doth never from me go,
But makes my lasting love eternal with my woe.