John Wilbye - Long have I made these hills and valleys weary - текст песни (слова)

Long have I made these hills and valleys weary,
 With noise of these my shrieks and cries that fill the air;
 She only, who should make me merry,
 Hears not my prayer:
 That I, alas! misfortune's son and heir,
 Hope in none other hope but in despair.
 O unkind and cruel! If thus my death may please thee,
 Then die I will to ease thee:
 Yet if I die, the world will thee control,
 And write upon my tomb, O sweet departure,
 Lo! here lies one, alas! poor soul,
 A true love's martyr.