Mary Wroth
You endless torments that my rest oppress
How long will you delight in my sad pain?
Will never love your favour more express?
Shall I still live, and ever feel disdain?
Alas now stay, and let my grief obtain
Some end; feed not my heart with sharp distress:
Let me once see my cruel fortunes gain
At least release, and long felt woes redress;
Let not the blame of cruelty disgrace
The honoured title of your Godhead, Love:
Give not just cause for me to say a place
Is found for rage alone on me to move;
O quickly end, and do not long debate
My needful aid least help do come too late.