Tixall Poetry/Mirtillo
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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
A thousand times, that like to those
Her flame should ever burne.
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
A thousand times, that like to those
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.