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The Arbor of Amitie

wherin is comprised pleasant Pohems and pretie Poesies, set foorth by Thomas Howell

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To his Friend, whose friendly loue he craueth.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

To his Friend, whose friendly loue he craueth.

O Doubtfull hap, O paines and pangues ye moue:
Thou yet wāts yeres to feele my smarts of loue
Mee rue, take age alas to thinke on mee
My earnest life, and death is set on thee,
Hart true I giue, though most yu wouldst me hate,
Untill hart breake in woes and staruing state,
I erst doe craue, regarde me once or neuer,
Die though I must, yet loue I thee for euer.
Time trieth all, that flieth without retorne,
Nought swifter is then yeres, yt kils things borne.
Whose stealing steps I wishe more fast to flo,
To make thee apt thy timely fayth to sho.

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Time absent still, we wishe to come and stay,
And thus vnwares we craue our dying day.
None is content his present state to see,
Yet thou my friend content mayst onely mee.
And eke in time I hope thou wilt regarde,
For seruice true, the seruant takes rewarde.
As time shall giue the tried trust of mee,
Accepted so, let me thy seruant bee.