Unrighteous Lord of love what law is this,
That me thou makest thus tormented be:
the whiles she lordeth in licentious blisse
of her freewill, scorning both thee and me.
See how the Tyrannesse doth joy to see
the huge ma**acres which her eyes do make:
and humbled harts brings captives unto thee,
that thou of them mayst mightie vengeance take.
But her proud hart doe thou a little shake
and that high look, with which she doth comptroll
all this worlds pride bow to a baser make,
and al her faults in thy black booke enroll:
That I may laugh at her in equall sort,
as she doth laugh at me and makes my pain her sport.