Tixall Poetry/The Despairing Lover
II.
The Despairing Lover.
My wounds have bled too long, deare, say noe more,Noe cordialls can a dying man restore;Thinke not your words, or this alluring smile,Can longer my dispairing soule beguile,Which drowned already in a sea of teares,Cares not for tides of hopes, or ebbs of feares.
But who shall sing your praise when I am gon?Or who can love so well as I have done?When death shall sease my love, and breake these bands,And you shall fall into imperious hands,Then think on me, and what my hart conceives;When they shall gather fruit, youll plucke but leaves.