The Works of Thomas Campion Complete Songs, Masques, and Treatises with a Selection of the Latin Verse: Edited with an introduction and notes by Walter R. Davis |
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 | The Works of Thomas Campion |  |
189
XXI.
[If any hath the heart to kill]
If any hath the heart to kill,
Come rid me of this wofull paine.
For while I live I suffer still
This cruell torment all in vaine:
Yet none alive but one can guesse
What is the cause of my distresse.
Come rid me of this wofull paine.
For while I live I suffer still
This cruell torment all in vaine:
Yet none alive but one can guesse
What is the cause of my distresse.
Thanks be to heav'n, no grievous smart,
No maladies my limbes annoy;
I beare a sound and sprightfull heart,
Yet live I quite depriv'd of joy:
Since what I had, in vaine I crave,
And what I had not, now I have.
No maladies my limbes annoy;
I beare a sound and sprightfull heart,
Yet live I quite depriv'd of joy:
Since what I had, in vaine I crave,
And what I had not, now I have.
A Love I had, so fayre, so sweet,
As ever wanton eye did see.
Once by appointment wee did meete;
Shee would, but ah, it would not be:
She gave her heart, her hand shee gave;
All did I give, shee nought could have.
As ever wanton eye did see.
Once by appointment wee did meete;
Shee would, but ah, it would not be:
She gave her heart, her hand shee gave;
All did I give, shee nought could have.
What Hagge did then my powers forespeake,
That never yet such taint did feele?
Now shee rejects me as one weake,
Yet am I all compos'd of steele.
Ah, this is it my heart doth grieve:
Now though shee sees, shee'le not believe!
That never yet such taint did feele?
Now shee rejects me as one weake,
Yet am I all compos'd of steele.
Ah, this is it my heart doth grieve:
Now though shee sees, shee'le not believe!
| The Works of Thomas Campion | |