XXVII

    Poor worm, poor silly worm, alas, poor beast! 
      Fear makes thee hide thy head within the ground,
      Because of creeping things thou art the least,
      Yet every foot gives thee thy mortal wound. 
    But I, thy fellow worm, am in worse state,
      For thou thy sun enjoyest, but I want mine. 
      I live in irksome night, O cruel fate! 
      My sun will never rise, nor ever shine. 
    Thus blind of light, mine eyes misguide my feet,
      And baleful darkness makes me still afraid;
      Men mock me when I stumble in the street,
      And wonder how my young sight so decayed. 
    Yet do I joy in this, even when I fall,
    That I shall see again and then see all.

    XXVIII

    Well may my soul, immortal and divine,
      That is imprisoned in a lump of clay,
      Breathe out laments until this body pine,
      That from her takes her pleasures all away. 
    Pine then, thou loathed prison of my life,
      Untoward subject of the least aggrievance! 
      O let me die!  Mortality is rife;
      Death comes by wounds, by sickness, care, and chance. 
    O earth, the time will come when I’ll resume thee,
      And in thy bosom make my resting-place;
      Then do not unto hardest sentence doom me;
      Yield, yield betimes; I must and will have grace! 
    Richly shalt thou be entombed, since, for thy grave,
    Fidessa, fair Fidessa, thou shalt have!

    XXIX

    Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish;
      Spirits, leave this earth that doth in griefs retain you;
      Griefs, chase this earth that it may fade with anguish;
      Spirits, avoid these furies which do pain you! 
    O leave your loathsome prison; freedom gain you;
      Your essence is divine; great is your power;
      And yet you moan your wrongs and sore complain you,
      Hoping for joy which fadeth every hour. 
    O spirits, your prison loathe and freedom gain you;
      The destinies in deep laments have shut you
      Of mortal hate, because they do disdain you,
      And yet of joy that they in prison put you. 
    Earth, take this earth with thee to be enclosed;
    Life is to me, and I to it, opposed!

    XXX

    Weep now no more, mine eyes, but be you drowned
      In your own tears, so many years distilled. 
      And let her know that at them long hath frowned,
      That you can weep no more although she willed;
    This hap her cruelty hath her allotten,
       Who whilom was commandress of each part;
       That now her proper griefs must be forgotten
       By those true outward signs of inward smart. 
    For how can he that hath not one tear left him,
       Stream out those floods that are due unto her moaning,
       When both of eyes and tears she hath bereft him? 
       O yet I’ll signify my grief with groaning;
    True sighs, true groans shall echo in the air
    And say, Fidessa, though most cruel, is most fair!