The Arbor of Amitie wherin is comprised pleasant Pohems and pretie Poesies, set foorth by Thomas Howell |
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 | The Arbor of Amitie |  |
The languishing Louer to his Ladie.
Health I thee sende, if he may giue,that which himselfe doth misse:
For thy sweete brest doth harbour whole,
my bloudy bale or blisse.
I neede no scribe to scrie my care,
in restlesse rigour spread:
They that beholde my chaunged cheere,
alreadie iudge me dead.
My baned limmes haue yeelded vp,
their wonted ioy, to die:
My helthlesse hande doth nought but wring,
and drie my dropping eie.
The deathly day in dole I passe,
a thousand times I craue:
The noysome night, againe I wishe,
the dolefull day to haue.
Eche howre to me most hatefull is,
eche place doth vrge my woe.
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to gastly graue I goe.
No phisicks arte can giue the salue,
to heale my painefull parte:
Saue onely thou, the salue and sore,
of this my captiue harte.
Thou hast the forme that cut the wound,
of my vnholpen paine:
Thou canst and art the onely helpe,
to heale the same againe.
In thee my wealth, in thee my woe,
in thee to saue or spill.
In thee my lyfe, in thee my death,
doth rest to worke thy will:
O salue thou then my secret sore,
sith helth in thee doth stay:
And graunt with speede my iust request,
whose want workes my decay.
| The Arbor of Amitie | |