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[Alas, lo now I heare the passing Bell]
  
  
  
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[Alas, lo now I heare the passing Bell]

Alas, lo now I heare the passing Bell,
Which Care appointeth carefullye to knoule,
And in my brest, I feele my heart now swell,
To breake the stringes which joynde it to my soule.
The Crystall yse, which lent mine eyes their light,
Doth now waxe dym, and dazeled all with dread,
My senses all, wyll now forsake me quite,
And hope of health abandoneth my head,
My wearie tongue can talke no longer now,
My trembling hand nowe leaves my penne to hold,
My joynts nowe stretch, my body cannot bowe,
My skinne lookes pale, my blood now waxeth cold.

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And are not these, the very panges of death?
Yes sure (sweete heart) I know them so to bee,
They be the panges, which strive to stop my breath,
They be the panges, which part my love from thee.
What sayd I? Love? Nay life: but not my love,
My life departes, my love continues styll:
My lothed lyfe may from my corpse remove,
My loving Love shall alwayes worke thy wyll.
It was thy wyll even thus to trye my truth,
Thou hast thy wyll, my truth may now be sene,
It was thy wyll, that I should dye in youth,
Thou hast thy wyll my yeares are yet but grene.
Thy penaunce was that I should pine in paine,
I have performde thy penaunce all in wo,
Thy pleasure was that I should here remaine,
I have bene glad to please thy fansie so.
Nowe since I have performed every part
Of thy commaunde: as neare as tongue can tell,
Content thee yet before my muse depart,
To take this Sonet for my last farewell.
Fato non fortuna.