Bartholomew Griffin - "Arraigned, poor captive at the bar I stand" lyrics

Arraigned, poor captive at the bar I stand, The bar of beauty, bar to all my joys; And up I hold my ever-trembling hand, Wishing or life or d**h to end annoys. And when the judge doth question of the guilt And bids me speak, then sorrow shuts up words. Yea, though he say, Speak boldly what thou wilt, Yet my confused affects no speech affords. For why, alas, my pa**ions have no bound, For fear of d**h that penetrates so near; And still one grief another doth confound, Yet doth at length a way to speech appear. Then, for I speak too late, the judge doth give His sentence that in prison I shall live.