Shall I sue, shall I seek for grace?
Shall I pray shall I prove?
Shall I strive to a heav'nly joy,
With an earthly love?

Shall I think that a bleeding heart
Or a wounded eye,
Or a sigh can ascend the clouds,
To attain so high?

Silly wretch, forsake these dreams
Of a vain desire,
O bethink what high regard
Holy hopes do require.

Favour is as fair as things are,
Treasure is not bought,
Favour is not won with words,
Nor the wish of a thought.

Justice gives each man his own,
Though my love be just,
Yet will not she pity my grief,
Therefore die I must.

Silly heart then yield to die
Perish in despair,
Witness yet how fain I die,
When I die for the fair.