How can the tree but waste and wither away,
That hath not some time comfort of the sunne?
How can that flower but vade and soone decay,
That alwaies is with darke clouds over runne?
Is this a life ? -- Nay ; death you may it call
That feeles each paine, and knowes no joy at all.

What foodelesse beast can live long in good plight?
Or is it life where sences there be none?
Or what availeth eies, without their sight?
Or els a tongue to him that is alone ?
Is this a life ? -- Nay; death you may it call
That feeles each paine, and knowes no joy at all. 

Whereto serves eares, if that there be no sound?
Or such a head where no device doth grow ?
But all of plaintes, since sorrow is the ground,
Whereby the heart doth pine in deadly woe.
Is this a life ? -- Nay; death you may it call
That feeles each paine, and knowes no joy at all.