Come, Sorrow come (Thomas Morley)

Come, Sorrow, come; sit down and mourn with me;
Hang down thy head upon thy baleful breast,
That God and man and all the world may see
Our heavy hearts do live in quiet rest.
Enfold thine arms and wring,
and wring thy wretched hands,
to show the state where in poor Sorrow stands.

Cry not outright, for that were children's guise,
But let thy tears fall trickling down thy face;
And weep so long until thy blubber'd eyes
May see, may see the depth of thy disgrace.
O shake thy head, but not, but not a word but mum;
The heart once dead, the tongue is stroken dumb.

And let our fare be dishes of despite
To break our hearts and not our fasts withal;
Then let us sup with sorrow sops at night
And bitter sauce, all of a broken gall.
Thus let us, let us live till heav'n's may rue to see
The doleful doom ordain'd for thee and me.