Shall I look to ease my grief?
  No, my sight is lost with eying:
Shall I speak and beg relief?
  No, my voice is hoarse with crying:
  What remains but only dying?

Love and I of late did part,
  But the boy, my peace envying,
Like a Parthian threw his dart
  Backward, and did wound me flying:
  What remains but only dying?

She whom then I lookèd on,
  My remembrance beautifying,
Stays with me though I am gone,
  Gone and at her mercy lying:
  What remains but only dying?

Shall I try her thoughts and write?
  No I have no means of trying:
If I should, yet at first sight
  She would answer with denying:
  What remains but only dying?

Thus my vital breath doth waste,
  And, my blood with sorrow drying,
Sighs and tears make life to last
  For a while, their place supplying:
  What remains but only dying?