My Lute Awake!

THE LOVER COMPLAINETH THE UNKINDNESS OF HIS LOVE.

My lute awake, perform the lastLabour, that thou and I shall waste,And end that I have now begun :And when this song is sung and past,My lute ! be still, for I have done.

As to be heard where ear is none ;As lead to grave in marble stone ;My song may pierce her heart as soon.Should we then sigh, or sing, or moan ?No, no, my lute ! for I have done.

The rocks do not so cruellyRepulse the waves continually,As she my suit and affection :So that I am past remedy ;Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast gotOf simple hearts thorough Love's shot,By whom, unkind, thou hast them won :Think not he hath his bow forgot,Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,That makest but game on earnest pain ;Think not alone under the sunUnquit to cause thy lovers plain ;Although my lute and I have done.

May chance thee lie withered and oldThe winter nights, that are so cold,Plaining in vain unto the moon ;Thy wishes then dare not be told :Care then who list, for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repentThe time that thou hast lost and spent,To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon :Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,And wish and want as I have done.

Now cease, my lute ! this is the lastLabour, that thou and I shall waste ;And ended is that we begun :Now is this song both sung and past ;My lute ! be still, for I have done.