Full Lyrics
If the deep sighs of an afflicted breast,
O'erwhelm'd with sorrow,
or th' erected of a poor wretch with miseries oppres'd,
for whose complaints tears never could suffice
Have not the power your deities to move,
Who shall e'er look for succour from above?
From whom too long I tarried for relief
Now ask but death, that only ends my grief.
There's not a grove that wonders not my woe,
Nor not a river weeps not at my tale,
I hear the Echoes (wand'ring to and fro)
Resound my grief through ev'ry hill and dale.
The Birds and beast yet in their simple kind
lament for me, no pity else, I find,
And tears I find do bring no other good
But as new showers, increase the rising flood.
