The Lover blameth his Love for renting of the Letter he sent her

SUFFICED not, Madam, that you did tear

My woful heart, but thus also to rent

The weeping paper that to you I sent;

Whereof each letter was written with a tear?

Could not my present pains, alas, suffice

Your greedy heart? and that my heart doth feel

Torments, that prick more sharper than the steel?

But new and new must to my lot arise.

Use then my death: So shall your cruelty,

Spite of your spite, rid me from all my smart,

And I no more such torments of the heart

Feel as I do: This shall you gain thereby.