Eyes, look no more,
For what hath all the earth
That's worth the sight?
Ears, hear no more, 
For what can breathe the voice
Of true delight?
Think Glory, Honour,
Joys, Delights, Contents,
Are but the empty reports
Of unapropried terms
That breath invents,
Not knowing what it imports.

Joys, Delights, and Pleasures
In us hold such a doubtful part,
As if they were but thrall,
And those were all in all.
For Griefs, Distrusts, Remorse,
I see must domineer the heart.

Clothe thee, my heart,
With black dark thoughts,
And think but of despair.
Silence, lock up my words,
And scorn these idle sounds of air.
But Sorrow, Grief,
Affliction and Despair,
These are the things that are sure,
And these we feel not as conceits in th' air
But as the same we endure.

Joys, Delights, and Pleasures
Make Grief to tyrannize us worse,
Our mirth brings but distastes,
For nought delights and lasts.
Grief, then, take all my heart,
For where none strive, there needs less force.