 | Poems (1872) |  |
I. A LOUER REIECTED COMPLAINETH.
The trickling teares, that falles along my cheekes,
The secret sighes, that showes my inward greefe:
The present paines perforce, that Loue aye seekes,
Bids me renue my cares without releefe.
In wofull song, in dole displaye,
My pensiue hart for to bewray.
The secret sighes, that showes my inward greefe:
The present paines perforce, that Loue aye seekes,
Bids me renue my cares without releefe.
In wofull song, in dole displaye,
My pensiue hart for to bewray.
Bewray thy greefe, thy wofull hart with speede,
Resigne thy voice, to her that causde thee woe:
With irksome cries, bewaile thy late doone deede,
For she thou louest is sure thy mortall foe;
And helpe for thee, there is none sure,
But still in paine thou must endure.
Resigne thy voice, to her that causde thee woe:
With irksome cries, bewaile thy late doone deede,
For she thou louest is sure thy mortall foe;
And helpe for thee, there is none sure,
But still in paine thou must endure.
The stricken Deere hath helpe to heale his wound,
The haggard Hauke, with toyle is made full tame:
The strongest tower, the canon layes on ground,
The wisest wit, that euer had the fame,
Was thrall to loue, by Cupid's sleights:
then weigh my cause, with equall wights.
The haggard Hauke, with toyle is made full tame:
The strongest tower, the canon layes on ground,
The wisest wit, that euer had the fame,
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then weigh my cause, with equall wights.
She is my ioy, she is my care and woe,
She is my paine, she is my ease therefore;
She is my death, she is my life also,
She is my salue, she is my wounded sore:
In fine, she hath the hand and knife
That may both saue and end my life.
She is my paine, she is my ease therefore;
She is my death, she is my life also,
She is my salue, she is my wounded sore:
In fine, she hath the hand and knife
That may both saue and end my life.
And shall I liue on earth to be her thrall?
And shall I liue, and serue her all in vaine?
And kisse the steppes that she lets fall,
And shall I pray the Gods to keepe the paine
From her that is so cruell still?
No, no, on her woorke all your will.
And shall I liue, and serue her all in vaine?
And kisse the steppes that she lets fall,
And shall I pray the Gods to keepe the paine
From her that is so cruell still?
No, no, on her woorke all your will.
And let her feele the power of all your might,
And let her haue her most desire with speede:
And let her pine away, both day and night,
and let her mone, and none lament her neede.
And let all those that shall her see,
Despise her state, and pittie me.
And let her haue her most desire with speede:
And let her pine away, both day and night,
and let her mone, and none lament her neede.
And let all those that shall her see,
Despise her state, and pittie me.
| Poems (1872) | |