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Loue, Fortune, and my minde
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Loue, Fortune, and my minde

Of Loue, Fortune, and the louers minde.

Loue, Fortune, and my minde which do remember
Eke that is now, and that that once hath bene:
Torment my hart so sore that very often
I hate and enuy them beyonde all measure.
Loue sleeth my hart while Fortune is depriuer
Of all my comfort: the folishe minde than:
Burneth and playneth: as one that sildam
Liueth in rest. Still in dispeasure
[_]

displeasure


My pleasant daies they flete away and passe.
And dayly doth myne yll change to the worse.
While more then halfe is runne now of my course.
Alas not of stele, but of brittle glasse,
I se that from my hand falleth my trust:
And all my thoughtes are dasshed into dust.