186
Tixall Poetry.
A thousand times, that like to those
Her flame should ever burne.
Her flame should ever burne.
But if she's lost, O! let me have
My wish, and quickly die;
In this cold banke ile make a grave,
And there for ever lie.
The nightengale the watch shall kepe,
And kindly here complaine;
Then downe the sheapard lay to sleepe,
Never to wake againe.
My wish, and quickly die;
In this cold banke ile make a grave,
And there for ever lie.
The nightengale the watch shall kepe,
And kindly here complaine;
Then downe the sheapard lay to sleepe,
Never to wake againe.
LV.
On His Mistresse Going a Voyage.
Bright was the morning, coole the aire,
Serene was all the skie,
When on the waves I left my faire,
The center of my joy.
Serene was all the skie,
When on the waves I left my faire,
The center of my joy.
