Shall I strive with words to move

Shall I strive with wordes to move
When deedes receive not due regard?
Shall I speake, and neyther please
Nor be freely heard?

Griefe alas though all in vaine
Her restlesse anguish must reveale:
Shee alone my wound shall know
Though shee will not heale

All woes have end, though a while delaid
Our patience proving
Oh that time's strange effects
Could but makе her loving

Stormes calme at last, and why may not
Shee lеave off her frowning?
Oh sweet Love, help her hands
My affection crowning

I woo’d her, I lov'd her
And none but her admire
O come deare joy, and answere my desire