Tixall Poetry.
185
LIV.
Mirtillo.
One night, when all the village slept,
Mirtillos sad dispaire,
The wandring sheapard waking kept,
To tell the woods his care.
Begon, said he, fond thoughts begon,
And give your sorrowes ore;
Why should you waste your teares on one
That thinks on you noe more?
Mirtillos sad dispaire,
The wandring sheapard waking kept,
To tell the woods his care.
Begon, said he, fond thoughts begon,
And give your sorrowes ore;
Why should you waste your teares on one
That thinks on you noe more?
Yet all the birds, the flocks, and flowers,
That dwell within this grove,
Can tell how many pleasant houres
We here have past in love.
Ye starres above, my cruel foes,
Can tell how she hath sworne
That dwell within this grove,
Can tell how many pleasant houres
We here have past in love.
Ye starres above, my cruel foes,
Can tell how she hath sworne
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