University of Virginia Library

The Louer almost in dispaire, showeth his great greefe and craues redresse.

Thou art the braunch that sweetely springs,
whose hart so sounde and true
Can onely cheere me wofull wight,
or force by want to rue.
Then giue to me the sap I thirst,
which gift may giue me ioy:
I meane thy firme and faithfull loue,
whose want breedes mine anoy.
Remember yet the friendly wordes,
ypast betweene vs twaine:
Forget him not, for loue of thee,
that sighes in secret paine.
I oft doe seeme in companie,
a gladsome face to beare:
But God thou knowst my inward woes,
and cares that rent me there.
And that I may gush out my griefe,
in secret place alone:
I bid my friends farewell in hast,
I say I must be gone.
Then hast I fast with heauie hart,
in this my dolefull case:
Where walkes no wight but I alone,
in drowsie desart place.
And there I empt my laden hart,
that swelde in fretting mone:
My sighes and plaint and panges I tell,
vnto my selfe alone.
What shall I say, doe aske me once,
why all these sorrowes bee:
I aunswere true, O foe or friend.
they all are made for thee.
Once knit the linck that loue may last,
then shall my dolors cease:
It lies in thee and wilt thou not,
the yeelding wight release?
O would to God it lay in me,
to cure such griefe of thine:
Thou shouldst not long be voide of helpe,
if twere in powre of mine.
But I would run and raunge in stormes,
a thousand miles in paine:
Not fearing foyle of friends to haue,
my Countnance whole againe.
And wilt thou then all mercilesse,
more longer torment mee
In drawing back, sith my good helpe,
is onely whole in thee?
Then sende me close the hewing knife,
my wyder wounde to stratch:
And thou shalt see by wofull griefe,
of life a cleane dispatch.
When thou shalt saye and prone it true,
my hart entirely loude:
Which lost the lyfe for Countnance sweete
from whome he neuer moude.
Write then vpon my mournefull toombe,
these verses grauen aboue:
Here lies the hart, his truth to trie,
that lost his life in loue.
Loe, saue or spill thou mayst me nowe,
thou sitst in iudgement hie:
Where I poore man at barre doe stande,
and lowde for life doe crie.
Thou will not be so mercilesse,
to slea a louing hart:
Small praise, it is, to conquer him,
that durst no where to start.
Then heale the hart that loues thee well,
vntill the day he die:
And firmely fast thy fayth on him,
thats true continually.
Then shall I blesse the pleasant plot,
where first I sawe thy face:
And say the Gods haue thee indude,
with giftes of goodly grace.
Whose vertues mixt with pittie great,
hir Counsell sought to saue:
Who being voyde of hir good helpe,
long since had line in graue.