Tired with all these, for restful death I cry

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry
As, to behold desert a beggar born
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity
And purest faith unhappily forsworn
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone