My lute awake! perform the lastLabour that thou and I shall waste,And end that I have now begun;For 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 disdainThat makest but game on earnest pain.Think not alone under the sunUnquit to cause thy lovers plain,Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie wethered 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 spentTo 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.
