Musica Reservata

Eyes, look no more,
for what hath all the earth that's worth the sight?
Ears, hear no more,
for what can breathe the voice of true delight?
Clothe thee, my heart,
with dark black thoughts,
and think but of despair.
Silence, lock up my words
and scorn these idle sounds of air.
Think, think glory honour, joys, delights, contents
are but the epmty reports
of unappropried terms
that breath invents,
not knowing what it imports
But, but sorrow, grief, affliction, and despair
These are the things that are sure;
And these we feel not as conceits in th'air
But as the same we endure.
Joys, delights and pleasures in us hold such a doubtful part
As if they were but thrall
and those were all in all
For griefs, distrusts, remorse, I see, must do mineer the heart
Joys, delights and pleasures makes grief to tyrannize us worse.
Our mirth brings but distastes
For nought delights and lasts.
Grief, then take all my heart,
for where none strive there needs less force.