Astrophel and Stella: 44

My words I know do well set forth my mind,My mind bemones his sense of inward smart;Such smart may pittie claime of any hart,Her heart, sweet heart, is of no Tigers kind:And yet she heares, and yet no pitie I find;But more I crie, lesse grace she doth impart,Alas, what cause is there so ouerthwart,That Noblenesse it selfe makes thus vnkind?I much do guesse, yet finde no truth saue this,That when the breath of my complaints doth tuchThose daintie dores vnto the Court of blisse,The heau'nly nature of that place is such,That once come there, the sobs of mine annoyesAre metamorphos'd straight to tunes of joyes.