Mary Wroth
Cruel suspicion, O! be now at rest,
Let daily torments bring to thee some stay
Alas make not my ill thy easeful prey,
Nor give loose reins to rage when love's oppressed.
I am by care sufficiently distressed,
No rack can stretch my heart more, nor a way
Can I find out for least content to lay
One happy foot of joy, one step that's blessed;
But to my end thou fliest with greedy eye,
Seeking to bring grief by base jealousy,
O in how strange a cage am I kept in?
No little sign of favour can I prove
But must be weighed, and turned to wronging love,
And with each humour must my state begin.