Madrigal: My Thoughts Hold Mortal Strife

My thoughts hold mortal strife,
 I do detest my life,
 And with lamenting cries,
 Peace to my soul to bring,
 Oft calls that prince which here doth monarchize;
 But he, grim-grinning king,
 Who caitiffs scorns and doth the blest surprise,
 Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,
 Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.