Astrophel and Stella: 93

O fate, O fault, O curse, child of my blisse,What sobs can giue words grace my griefe to sho?What inke is blacke inough to paint my wo?Through me, wretch me, euen Stella vexed is.Yet trueth (if Caitifs breath may call thee) thisWitnesse with me, that my soule stumbling so,From carelesnesse did in no maner grow,But wit confus'd with too much care did misse.And do I then my selfe this vaine scuse giue?I haue (liue I and know this) harmed thee,Tho worlds quite me, shall I me selfe forgiue?Only with paines my paines thus eased be,That all thy hurtes in my hearts wracke I reede;I cry thy sighs; my deere, thy teares I bleede.