64
Tixall Poetry.
A Glasse Chayne Broken.
Cease to proclayme the victory,
And trophy of your ether eye;
Vaunt me no more your captive there,
Enchayned in a single haire:
Thees weire glorious fetters too,
And every linke as strong as you;
And yet you see the chayne is broke,
And I in tyme may slip the yoake.
And trophy of your ether eye;
Vaunt me no more your captive there,
Enchayned in a single haire:
Thees weire glorious fetters too,
And every linke as strong as you;
And yet you see the chayne is broke,
And I in tyme may slip the yoake.
A Glasse Window Broken.
The window of thyn eyes, my deare,
Will shatter too, if death peep there;
Nay, who'l asure them to outlast
Diseases stroke, or ages blast?
Oh, shut them now, and kindly rescue me,
And see how much tis safer not to see.
Will shatter too, if death peep there;
Nay, who'l asure them to outlast
Diseases stroke, or ages blast?
Oh, shut them now, and kindly rescue me,
And see how much tis safer not to see.
