FAIR dog, which so my heart dost tear asunder,
That my life's-blood, my bowels, overfloweth,
Alas, what wicked rage conceal'st thou under
These sweet enticing joys, thy forehead showeth?
Me, whom the light-wing'd god of long hath chas'd,
Thou hast attain'd, thou gav'st that fatal wound,
Which my soul's peaceful innocence hath raz'd,
And reason to her servant humor bound.
Kill therefore in the end, and end my anguish,
Give me my death, methinks even time upbraideth
A fullness of the woes, wherein I languish;
Or if thou wilt I live, then pity pleadeth
Help out of thee, since nature hath reveal'd,
That with thy tongue thy bitings may be heal'd.
