In the long night, when every creature should naturally take some rest, or else his life cannot long hold out, then it falls most into my woeful thoughts how I have dropped so far behind that except death nothing can comfort me, so do I despair of all happiness. This thought remains with me until morning, and forth from morning until eve. I need borrow no grief; I have both leisure and leave to mourn. There is no creature who will take my woe or forbid me to weep enough and wail my fill; the sore spark of pain destroys me. This love has so placed me that he will never fulfill my desire; for neither pity, mercy, nor grace can I find. Yet even for fear of death can I not root out love from my sorrowful heart. The more I love, the more my lady pains me; through which I see, without remedy, that I may in no way escape death. Now in truth I will rehearse her name. She is called Goodness-set-in-womanhood, Staidness-in-youth, and Beauty-without-pride, and Pleasure-under- control-and-fear. Her surname is Fair-ruthless, Wisdom-knit-to-fortune. Because I love her she slays me guiltless. Her I love best, and shall as long as I live, better an hundred thousand times than myself, better than all the riches and created beings of this world. Now has not Love bestowed me well, to love where I shall never have part or lot! Alas, so is Fortune's wheel turned for me, so am I slain with Love's fiery arrow! I can only love her best, my sweet foe. Love has taught me no more of his art than ever to serve, and cease for no sorrow. Within my true, care-worn heart there is so much woe, and so little joy as well, that woe is me that ever I was born. For all that I desire I lack, and all that ever I would not have, that, in truth, I ever find ready to my hand. And of all this I know not to whom to complain, for she who might bring me out of this cares not whether I weep or sing, so little pities she my pain. Alas! In sleeping-time I wake; when I should dance I tremble with fear. This heavy life I lead for your sake, though you pay no heed thereto, my heart's lady, all my life's queen! For truly I dare say it, as I see it: I seems to me that your sweet heart of steel is now whetted against me too keenly. My dear heart, foe best-beloved, why will you do me all this sorrow? What have I done or said to grieve you, except that I serve and love you and nobody else, and as long as I live will ever? Therefore, sweet, be not displeased. You are so good and fair, it would be a very great wonder if you did not have suitors of all kinds, both good and bad; and the least worthy of all, I am he. Nevertheless, my own sweet lady, though I be unskillful and unfit ever to serve your highness, even as best I knew how, yet this I swear, there is nobody more glad than I to do your pleasure or to cure whatever I know to distress you. And had I as much power as will, then should you feel whether it were so or not; for in this world is no living being who would more gladly fulfill your heart's desire. For I both love and fear you so sorely, and ever must and have done right long, that none is better loved, and never shall be. And yet I would only beg you to believe me well, and be not angry, and let me continue to serve you. Lo, this is all! For I am not so bold or mad as to desire that you should love me; for alas! Well I know that may not be; I have so little worth, and you so much. For you are one of the most excellent of the living, and I the most unlikely to prosper. Yet, for all this, know you right well you shall not so drive me from your service that I shall not ever serve you faithfully, with all my five wits, whatever woe I feel. For I am so set upon you that though you never pity me, I must love you and ever be as true as any man living can be. The more I love you, goodly and noble one, the less I find you love me. Alas! When will that obduracy soften? Where now is all your womanly pity, your noble gentleness, your graciousness? Will you spend nothing of it on me? And as wholly as I am your, sweet, and as great will I have to serve you, if thus you let me die, you have gained but little from it. For I believe I have given no cause. And this I beseech you heartily, that if ever you find, so long as you live, a servant more true to you than I, then leave me and boldly slay me, and I will forgive you all my death. And if you find no truer man, why will you allow me to perish thus, and for no type of guilt except my good desire? As good then be untrue as true. But to your will I submit my life and death, and with a fully obedient heart I pray, do with me as is your pleasure. Much rather had I please you and die than to think or say anything to offend you at any time. Therefore, pity my bitter pains, sweet, and of your grace grant me some drop; for else neither hope nor happiness may remain with me, nor linger in my troubled, careworn heart.