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[XV. Ay me poore hart]

Ay me poore hart

Ay me poore hart, since loue hath plaied his part, my sences all are lost, my mind eke tost, like waues that swell, sweet god of loue, of loue thou dost excell, thy passions moue, my mind to proue, that turtle doue, she flies, my loue she tries, helpe gods that sit on hie Oh send me remedy, oh send me remedy.