XXII
O fairest fair, to thee I make my plaint,
(my plaint)
To thee from whom my cause of grief doth spring;
(doth spring)
Attentive be unto the groans, sweet saint,
(sweet saint)
Which unto thee in doleful tunes I sing.
(I sing)
My mournful muse doth always speak of thee;
(of thee)
My love is pure, O do it not disdain!
(disdain)
With bitter sorrow still oppress not me,
(not me)
But mildly look upon me which complain.
(which complain)
Kill not my true-affecting thoughts, but give
(but give)
