Ayres and Dialogues | ||
51
[55.] My sickly breath wasts in a double flame
[I]
My sickly breath wasts in a double flame;Whilst Love and Death to my poor life lay claime;
The feavour in whose heat I melt
By her that causeth it not felt.
II
Thou who aloneCanst, yet wilt grant no ease;
Why slight'st thou one
To feed a new disease?
Unequal Fair, the heart is thine,
Ah! Why then should the pain be mine.
Ayres and Dialogues | ||