 The Author's Abstract of Melancholy by Robert Burton Read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake When I go musing all alone, thinking of diverse things, for known, When I build castles in the air, void of sorrow and void of fear, Pleasing myself with phantasm sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet, All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannize, fear and sorrow me surprise. Whether I tarry, still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, with pleasing thoughts the time beguile, By a brookside or wood so green, unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures do me bless, and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I lie sit or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, In a dark grove or irksome den, with discontents and furies then. A thousand miseries at once mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see sweet music, wondrous melody, Towns, palaces, and cities fine. Here now, then there, the world is mine. Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine. What air is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghosts, goblins, fiends. My fantasy presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headless bears, black men in apes, doleful outcries, And fearful sights, my sad and dismal soul of frights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, O sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount love's many frights, my sighs and tears, My waking nights, my jealous fits. O mine hard fate I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Nair well, but when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure like to this. Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plague to be alone. I am a beast, a monster grown. I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone. Here discontent and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravish them. Can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile? In pleasant toys, time to be guile? Do not, O do not trouble me. So sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from gaol or dunghill fetch. My pains past cure, another hell. I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate I hate my life. Lend me a halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Authors Abstract of Melancholy by Robert Burton. Read for LibriVox.org by Barbara Clements. When I go musing all alone, thinking of diverse things foreknown. When I build castles in the air, void of sorrow and void of fear. When I think of myself with phantasm sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, recounting what I have ill done. My thoughts on me then tyrannize, fear and sorrow me surprise. Whether I tarry still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. Myself I act and smile with pleasing thoughts the time beguile. By a brookside or wood so green, unheard, unsought for or unseen. A thousand pleasures do me bless and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan. In a dark grove or irksome den with discontents and furies then. A thousand miseries at once mine heavy heart and soul and scots. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody. Towns, palaces and cities fine, here now, then there. The world is mine, rare beauties, gallant ladies shine. What air is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghost goblins fiends. My fantasy presents a thousand ugly shapes. Headless bears, black men and apes, doleful cries and fearful sights. My sad and dismal soul affrights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, oh sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount loves many frights, my sighs and tears, my waking nights, my jealous fits. O mine hard fate I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Nair well, but when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure like to this, tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plagued to be alone. I am a beast, a monster grown. I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone. Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravished am. Can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile? Impleasant toys time to be guile. Do not, oh do not trouble me, so sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from jail or dung hill fetch. My pains pass cure another hell, I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate I hate my life, lend me a halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When I go musing, all alone, thinking of diverse things for known. When I build castles in the air, void of sorrow and void of fear, pleasing myself with phantasm sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking, all alone, recounting what I have ill done, my thoughts on me then tyrannize. Fear and sorrow, me surprise, whether I tarry, still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, with pleasing thoughts the time beguile. By a brookside or wood so green, unheard, unsought for, or unseen. A thousand pleasures do me bless, and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, in a dark grove or irksome den, with discontents and furies then. A thousand miseries at once mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody, towns, palaces and cities fine. Here now, then there, the world is mine. Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, what air is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghosts, goblins, fiends, my fantasy presents a thousand ugly shapes, headless bears, black men and apes, doleful outcries and fearful sights, my sad and dismal soul of frights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, O sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount loves many frights, my sighs and tears, my waking nights, my jealous fits. O mine hard fate I now repent, but is too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Narewell, but when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy, no gem, no treasure like to this, tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plagued to be alone. I am a beast, a monster grown. I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone. Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravish them. Can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile, in pleasant toys time to be guile? Do not, O do not trouble me, so sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, not so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from gole or dunghill fetch. My pains past cure, another hell. I may not in this torment dwell. Thou desperate, I hate my life. Lend me a halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Fear and sorrow, and void of fear. Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When am I waking, all alone, recounting what I have ill done. My thoughts on me then tyrannize. Fear and sorrow, me surprise. Whether I tarry, still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, with pleasing thoughts the time beguile. By a brookside or wood so green, unheard, unsought for or unseen, a thousand pleasures do me bless, and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan. In a dark grove or irksome den, with this contents and furies then, a thousand miseries at once mine heavy heart and soul and sconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody. Towns, palaces, and cities fine. Here now, then there, the world is mine. Rear beauties, gallant ladies shine. What air is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghost, goblins, fiends. My fantasy presents a thousand ugly shapes, headless bears, black men, and apes, doleful outcries, and fearful sights, my sad and dismal soul of frights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, o sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount loves many frights, my sighs and tears, my waking nights, my jealous fits, o mine hard fate I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Nair well but when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure, like to this. Tis my delight, my crown. My bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plague to be alone. I am a beast, a monster grown. I will no light, nor company. I will find it now my misery. The scene is turned. My joys are gone. Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king. I ravished am. Can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile? In pleasant toys, time to be guile? Do not, oh, do not trouble me, so sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch. Thou can'ts from guile or dung hill fetch. My pains pass cure another hell. I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate I hate my life. Lend me a halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. When I go musing all alone, thinking of diverse things foreknown, when I build castles in the air, void of sorrow and void of fear, pleasing myself with phantasms sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, recounting what I have ill done, my thoughts on me then tyrannize, fear and sorrow me surprise. Whether I tarry still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, with pleasing thoughts the time be guile, by a brookside or wood so green, unheard unsought for or unseen, a thousand pleasures do me bless and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys beside are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, in a dark grove or irksome den, with discontents and theories then, a thousand miseries at once, mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody, towns, palaces and cities fine, here now, then there, the world's mine, rare beauties gallant ladies shine, whatever is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghosts, goblins, fiends, my fantasy, presents a thousand ugly shapes, headless bears, black men and apes, dullful outcries and fearful sighs, my sad and dismal soul affrights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistresses, O blessed days or sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount love's many frights, my sighs and tears my waking nights, my jealous fits, O mine hard fate, I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Nare but well when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure like to this, tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plagued to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown. I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone. Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravish them. Can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile? In pleasant toys time to be guile. Do not, O do not trouble me, so sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from jail or dung-hole fetch. Pain's past cure, another hell, I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate I hate my life, lend me a halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When I go musing all alone, thinking of divers things forlorn. When I build castles in the air, void of sorrow and void of fear. Bleeding myself of the phantasm sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, recounting what I have ill done. My thoughts on me then tyrannize, fear and sorrow me surprise. Whether I tarry, still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, with pleasing thoughts the time begire. By a brookside or wood so green, unheard, unsought for or unseen. A thousand pleasures do we bless, and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit or walk alone, I see I grieve, making great moan, in a dark grove or urx and den, with discontents and furies there. A thousand miseries at once, mine heavy heart and sorrel and sconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody. Towns, palaces and cities fine, hear now, then, there, the world is mine, where beauties gallant ladies shine, whatever is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghost goblins fiends my fantasy. Presents a thousand ugly shapes, headless bears black men and apes, doleful cries and fearful sights, my sad and dismal soul of fright. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I call, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, O sweet content in paradise, my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I recount loves many frights, my sighs and tears, my waking nights, my jealous fits, O mine hard fate, I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love so bitter to my soul and through. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Never well but when my thoughts and I do dominion privacy. No gem, no treasure, like to this, tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown, I will no lights nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone, fear discontent and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravish dam, can the world bring, more joy than still to laugh and smile, in pleasant toys time to beguile. Do not, O do not trouble me, O sweet content, I feel and see, all my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from jail or dung hill fetch, my pains pass cure, another hell I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate I hate my life, lend me a halt or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Author's Abstract of Melancholy by Robert Burton Read for LibriVox.org by Sean Michael Hogan, St. John's Newfoundland, Canada When I go musing all alone, thinking of diverse things foreknown, When I build castles in the air void of sorrow and void of fear, pleasing myself with phantasms sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, recounting what I have ill done, my thoughts on me then tyrannize, fear and sorrow me surprise. Whether I tarry still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, with pleasing thoughts the time beguile, by a brookside or wood so green unheard, unsaught for or unseen, a thousand pleasures do me bless and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan. In a dark grove or irksome den, with discontents and furies, then a thousand miseries at once mine heavy heart and soul and sconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody. Towns, palaces and cities fine, here now, then there, the world is mine. Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, what air is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghosts, goblins, fiends, my fantasy presents a thousand ugly shapes, headless bears, black men and apes, doleful out cries and fearful sights, my sad and dismal soul of frights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, o sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount loves many frights, my sighs and tears, my waking nights, my jealous fits, so mine hard fate I now repent, but is too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Nare well, but when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure like to this, tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown. I will no like nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone, fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king. I ravished am, can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile? In pleasant toys, time too beguile. Do not, oh, do not trouble me, so sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from jail or dung hill fetch. My pains past cure, another hell, I may not in this torment dwell. Now, desperate, I hate my life, lend me a halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. When I go musing all alone, thinking of divers things foreknown, when I build castles in the air, void of sorrow and void of fear, pleasing myself with phantasm sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, recounting what I have ill done, my thoughts on me then tyrannize, fear in sorrow me surprise, whether I tarry still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act in smile with pleasing thoughts the time beguile, by a brookside or wood so green, unheard, unsought for or unseen, a thousand pleasures do me bless and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, in a dark grove or irksome den, with discontents and furies then, a thousand miseries at once, mine heavy heart and soul in sconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody, towns, palaces, and cities fine, here now, then there, the world is mine, rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, whatever is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghosts, goblins, fiends, my fantasy, presents a thousand ugly shapes, headless bears, black men and apes, doleful outcries and fearful sights, my sad and dismal soul of frights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, O sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount love's many frights, my sighs and tears, my waking nights, my jealous fits, O mine hard fate, I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Nare well, but when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure like to this, tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown. I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone. Fear, discontent and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king. I ravished am, can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile? In pleasant toys, time to be guile? Do not, O do not trouble me, so sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from jail or dung hill fetch. My pains past cure, another hell, I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate I hate my life, lend me a halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Author's Abstract of Melancholy by Robert Burton readforlibervox.org by Victoria Grace When I go musing all alone, thinking of divers things foreknown, when I build castles in the air, void of sorrow and void of fear, pleasing myself with fantasms, sweet, me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, recounting what I have ill done, my thoughts on me then tyrannize, fear and sorrow me surprise, whether I tarry still or go, me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile with pleasing thoughts the time beguile, by a brookside or wood so green, unheard, unsought for or unseen, a thousand pleasures do me bless and crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, in a dark grove or irksome den, with discontents and furies then, a thousand miseries at once. Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce, all my griefs to this are jolly, none so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, sweet music, wondrous melody, towns, palaces and cities fine, hear now, then there, the world is mine, rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, what air is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, none so sweet as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, ghosts, goblins, fiends, my fantasy presents a thousand ugly shapes, headless bears, black men and apes, doleful outcries and fearful sights, my sad and dismal soul of frights. All my griefs to this are jolly, none so damned as melancholy. Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss, me thinks I now embrace my mistress. Oh, blessed days, oh, sweet content, in paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, so may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. When I recount love's many frights, my sighs and tears, my waking nights, my jealous fits, oh, mine hard fate, I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, so bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone, tis my desire to be alone. Nair well, but when my thoughts and I do domineer in privacy. No gem, no treasure like to this, tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, not so sweet as melancholy. Tis my soul plague to be alone. I am a beast, a monster groan. I will no light nor company. I find it now my misery. The scene is turned, my joys are gone. Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king. I ravish damn. Can the world bring more joy than still to laugh and smile and pleasant toys timed to the guile? Do not. Oh, do not trouble me. So sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, none so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, thou canst from gow or dung hill fetch. My pains past cure, another hell. I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate, I hate my life. Lend me an halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, not so damned as melancholy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.