The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
THE LOVER'S PITYE.
My lute, who makedst sweetest sound,
Awake thee now, alack! to playne;
Sith my poore harte doth feel a wound,
And never may rejoice again!
Oh, let thy sounds with my sighs flow,
For her who lies in death below!
Awake thee now, alack! to playne;
Sith my poore harte doth feel a wound,
And never may rejoice again!
Oh, let thy sounds with my sighs flow,
For her who lies in death below!
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O lute! how jocund was thy voice
When she did make thy chords rejoice,
When roses blushed on her cheek!
But now that she in deth lies pale,
Thy voice must tell a doleful tale,
And every harte with sorrow breake!
When she did make thy chords rejoice,
When roses blushed on her cheek!
But now that she in deth lies pale,
Thy voice must tell a doleful tale,
And every harte with sorrow breake!
My lute, thou must no more be gladde,
But tune to dying straines and sadde,
And think no more of jouissance.
Grief openeth of myne eyes the springes,
And oft my teares will wet thy stringes,
And make thee mourne our dread mischance.
Then list to me, my favourite lute—
Be sadde, or lye for ever mute!
But tune to dying straines and sadde,
And think no more of jouissance.
Grief openeth of myne eyes the springes,
And oft my teares will wet thy stringes,
And make thee mourne our dread mischance.
Then list to me, my favourite lute—
Be sadde, or lye for ever mute!
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |