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.
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![]() | The Arbor of Amitie | ![]() |
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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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.
![]() | The Arbor of Amitie | ![]() |