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[Love, hope, and death, do stirre in me such strife]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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[Love, hope, and death, do stirre in me such strife]

Love , hope, and death, do stirre in me such strife,
As never man but I led such a life.
First burning love doth wound my hart to death,
And when death comes at call of inward griefe,
Colde lingering hope doth feede my fainting breath
Against my will, and yeeldes my wound reliefe:
So that I live, but yet my life is such,
As death would never greve me halfe so much.
No comfort then but only this I tast,
To salve such sore, such hope will never want,
And with such hope, such life will ever last,
And with such life, such sorrowes are not skant.
Oh straunge desire, O life with torments tost
Through too much hope, mine onely hope is lost.
Even HE F. J.