Alas! so all things now do hold their peace, Heaven and earth disturbed in nothing. The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease, The night{:e}s chare the stars about doth bring. Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less: So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring, Bringing before my face the great increase Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease. For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring, But by and by the cause of my disease Gives me a pang that inwardly doth sting, When that I think what grief it is again To live and lack the thing should rid my pain.