Would my conceit that first enforc’d my woe

Would my conceit that first enforced my woe
Or else mine eyes which still the same increase
Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so
Which now are such as nothing can release:
Whose life is death, whose sweet each change of sour
And eke whose hell reneweth every hour

Each hour amidst the deep of hell I fry
Each hour I waste and wither where I sit
But that sweet hour wherеin I wish to die
My hope alas may not enjoy it yеt
Whose hope is such bereaved, of the bliss
Which unto all save me allotted is

To all save me is free to live or die
To all save me remaineth hap or hope
But all perforce, I must abandon it
Sith Fortune still directs my hap a slope
Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust
But to my thralls I yield, for so I must