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 massacres 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.