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XLII
Die, die, my hopes! for you do but augment
The burning accents of my deep despair;
Disdain and scorn your downfall do consent;
Tell to the world she is unkind yet fair!
O eyes, close up those ever-running fountains,
For pitiless are all the tears you shed
Wherewith you watered have both dales and mountains!
I see, I see, remorse from her is fled.
Pack hence, ye sighs, into the empty air,
Into the air that none your sound may hear,
Sith cruel Chloris hath of you no care,
Although she once esteemèd you full dear!
Let sable night all your disgraces cover,
Yet truer sighs were never sighed by lover.
