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Cease, sorrows, now, |
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For you have done the deed, |
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Lo, Care hath now |
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Consumed my carcase quite. |
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No hope is left, |
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Nor help can stand instead, |
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For doleful death |
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Doth cut oft pleasure quite. |
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Yet whilst I hear |
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The knelling of the bell, |
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Before I die, I'll sin |
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Would my conceit, |
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That first enforced my woe, |
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Or else mine eyes |
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Which still the same increase, |
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Might be extinct, |
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To end my sorrows so |
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Which now are such |
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As nothing can release, |
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Whose life is death |
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Whose sweet each change of sour, |
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And eke whose bell reneweth every hour. |
