Tixall Poetry.
161
XLIII.
To Love.
O Love, if ere thou'dst ease a hart
That ownes thy power devine,
That bleeds with thy to cruell dart,
And pants with never-dying smart,
Take pitty now on mine.
Under thy shades I fainting lie,
A thousand times I wish to die,
But when I think cold death draws nigh
I grieve to loose my pleasing paine,
And call my wishes back againe.
That ownes thy power devine,
That bleeds with thy to cruell dart,
And pants with never-dying smart,
Take pitty now on mine.
Under thy shades I fainting lie,
A thousand times I wish to die,
But when I think cold death draws nigh
I grieve to loose my pleasing paine,
And call my wishes back againe.
But thus as I sat all alone,
Ith shady mirtle grove,
And to each gentle sigh and moane,
Some neighbouring eccho gave a grone,
Came by the man I love:
Ith shady mirtle grove,
And to each gentle sigh and moane,
Some neighbouring eccho gave a grone,
Came by the man I love:
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