 | Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies |  |
The broken-heart-song.
Count the sighs, and count the tears,Which have in part my budding yeers;
Comment on my woful look,
Which is now black sorrows book.
Read how love is overcome,
Weep and sigh, and then be dumb.
Say it was your charity
To help him whose eyes are dry.
Here paint my Cleora's name,
Then a hurt, and then a flame;
Then mark how the heart doth fry
When Cleora is so nigh:
Though the flame did do its part,
Twas the name that broke the heart.
22
My sad History to read.
Fold the Paper up agen
And report to other men,
These complaints can justly prove
Hearts may break that be in love.
| Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies | |