Cease, O my sad soul, cease to mourn!
I see my love and faith are paid
With nothing but disdain and scorn,
And I to my grief am betray'd,
O, then if she remain
Still so unkind,
I may as well complain
Unto the wind.

Tell me, O Nature, tell me why
Thou did'st create women so fair?
Or why did'st give them cruelty,
To drive men daily to despair?
Unhappy is his fate
That truly loves,
Yet undeserved hate
His guardian proves.