 | Poems (1872) |  |
THE LADY AND HER VIOL.
Why dost thou, deare, affect thy viol so,And let thy loue forlorne, wth anguish go?
Thou't kindly set him on thy lap, imbrace
And almost kis, while I must voide ye place.
Thou't string him truly, tune him sweetly, when
Thou't wrest me out of tune and crack me then:
Thou't stop his frets, but set no date to mine;
Thou't giue what ere he wants, but let me pine.
Thou knowest him hollow-harted, yet wilt heare
Him throughout wth an attentiue eare.
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Would charme hel's churlish porter's watchfull eye;
Keping true time wth him as true may be,
But finde no time to kepe ye true to me.
Deare as ye instrument woulde I were thine,
That thou mightst play on me, or thou wert mine.
| Poems (1872) | |