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The Passionate Pilgrime.
And as goods lost, are seld or never found,
As vaded glosse no rubbing will refresh:
As flowers dead, lie withered on the ground,
As broken glasse no symant can redress.
So beauty blemisht once, for ever lost,
In spite of physick, painting, paine and cost.
As vaded glosse no rubbing will refresh:
As flowers dead, lie withered on the ground,
As broken glasse no symant can redress.
So beauty blemisht once, for ever lost,
In spite of physick, painting, paine and cost.
Good night, good rest, ah neither be my share,
She bad good night, that kept my rest away,
And daft me to a cabben hangd with care;
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
Farewel (quoth she) and come againe to morrow
Farewel I could not, for I supt with sorrow.
She bad good night, that kept my rest away,
And daft me to a cabben hangd with care;
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
Farewel (quoth she) and come againe to morrow
Farewel I could not, for I supt with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I conster whether:
'T may be she joy'd to jeast at my exile,
'T may be again, to make me wander thither.
Wander (a word) for shadowes like my self,
As take the pain, but cannot plucke the pelfe.
In scorn or friendship, nill I conster whether:
'T may be she joy'd to jeast at my exile,
'T may be again, to make me wander thither.
Wander (a word) for shadowes like my self,
As take the pain, but cannot plucke the pelfe.
Lord how mine eyes throw gazes to the East,
My heart doth charge the watch, the morning rise
Doth scite each moving scence from idle rest,
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her layes were tuned like the Lark.
My heart doth charge the watch, the morning rise
Doth scite each moving scence from idle rest,
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her layes were tuned like the Lark.
For
