[XXXIIII. Long haue I made these hils and vallies weary]
Long haue I made these hils and vallies weary
Long haue I made these hils and vallies weary, With noyse of these my
shrikes & cryes that fill the aire, & cryes that fill the
ayre, She onely who should make me mery heares not my prayer, That I alas,
that I alas, alas, misfortunes sonne and heyre, that I alas, alas, misfortunes
son & heyre, Hope in none other hope but in dispaire, O vnkind,
O, vnkinde, and cruell, Then dye I will to ease thee,
Yet if I dye, the world will thee controule, Loe here lyes one,
(Alas poore soule) A true loues Martyr, A Martyr. A true loues Martyr.
