Reign in my thoughts, fair hand, sweet eye, rare voice: br Possess me whole, my heart's triumvirate; br Yet heavy heart to make so hard a choice, br Of such as spoil thy poor afflicted stated. br For whilst they strive which shall be Lord of all, br All my poor life by them is trodden down; br They all erect their Trophies on my fall, br And yield me nought that gives them their renown. br When back I look, I sigh my freedom past, br And wail the state wherein I present stand, br And see my fortune ever like to last, br Finding me reign'd with such a heavy hand. br What can I do by yield, and yield I do, br And serve all three, and yet they spoil me too.