At the Author's Going into Italy

O whether (poor forsaken) wilt thou go, 
To go from sorrow and thine own distress, 
When every place presents the face of woe, 
And no remove can make thy sorrow less? 
Yet go (forsaken), leave these woods, these plains; 
Leave her and all, and all for her that leaves 
Thee and thy love forlorn, and both disdains, 
And of both wrongful deems and ill conceives. 
Seek out some place, and see if any place 
Give give the least release unto thy grief, 
Convey thee from the thought of thy disgrace, 
Steal from thyself, and be thy cares own thief. 
But yet what comfort shall I hereby gain? 
Bearing the wound, I needs must feel the pain.