XI.
[You that pine in long desire]
[1]
You that pine in long desire,
Helpe to cry.
Come Loue, come Loue, quench this burning fire.
Least through thy wound I die.
2
Hope that tyres with vaine delay,
euer cryes
Come loue, come loue, howers and yeares decay,
In time loues treasure lyes.
3
All the day, and all the night
still I call
Come loue, come loue, but my deare delight,
yealds no releefe at all.
4
Her vnkindnesse scornes my moane,
that still shrykes
Come loue, come loue, beauty pent alone
dyes in her owne dislikes.
