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The louer prayeth his offred hart to be receiued.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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The louer prayeth his offred hart to be receiued.

How oft haue I, my deare and cruell fo:
With my great pain to get som peace or truce,
Geuen you my hart? but you do not vse,
In so hie thinges, to cast your minde so low.
If any other loke for it, as you trow,
Their vaine weake hope doth greatly them abuse.
And that thus I disdayne, that you refuse.
It was once mine, it can no more be so.
If you it chase, that it in you can finde,
In this exile, no maner of comfort:
Nor liue alone, nor where he is calde, resort,
He may wander from his naturall kinde.


So shall it be great hurt vnto vs twayne,
And yours the losse, and mine the deadly payne.