II. Flow my teares fall from your springs
Flow my teares fall from your springs
Flow my teares fall from your springs, Exilde for euer: Let mee
morne where nights black bird hir sad infamy sings, there let mee liue forlorne.
Downe vainelights shine you no more, No nights are duk enough for
those that in dispaire their Last fortuns deplore, light doth but shame disclose.
Neuer may my woes be relieued, since pittie is fled, and teares, and sighes, and grones
my wearie dayes, of all ioyes haue depriued.
Frō the highest spire of contentment, my fortune is throwne, and feare, and griefe, and paine
for my deserts, are my hopes since hope is gone.
Harke you shadowes that in darcknesse dwell, learne to contemne light, Happie, happie they
that in hell feele not the worlds despite.
