False hope prolongs my ever certain grief, 
Trait'rous to me and faithful to my love; 
A thousand times it promis'd me relief, 
Yet never any true effect I prove. 
Oft when I find in her no truth at all, 
I banish her and blame her treachery; 
Yet soon again I must her back recall, 
As one that dies without her company. 
Thus often as I chase my hope from me, 
Straight way she hastes her unto Delia's eyes; 
Fed with some pleasing look there shall she be, 
And so sent back, and thus my fortune lies. 
Looks feed my Hope, Hope fosters me in vain; 
Hopes are unsure, when certain is my pain.