Mary Wroth
Grief, killing grief, have not my torments been
Already great, and strong enough, but still
Thou dost increase, nay glory in my ill,
And woes new past, afresh new woes begin!
Am I the only purchase you can win?
Was I ordained to give despair her fill
Or fittest I should mount misfortune's hill
Who in the plain of joy cannot live in ?
If it be so, grief come as welcome guest
Since I must suffer, for another's rest:
Yet this good grief, let me entreat of thee,
Use still thy force, but not from those I love
Let me all pains, and lasting torments prove
So I miss these, lay all thy weights on me.