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SONG
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My silks and fine array,
My smiles and languish'd air,
By love are driv'n away;
And mournful lean Despair
Brings me yew to deck my grave:
Such end true lovers have.
II
His face is fair as heav'n
When springing buds unfold
O why to him was't giv'n
Whose heart is wintry cold?
His breast is love's all worship'd tomb,
Where all love's pilgrims come.
III
Bring me an axe and spade,
Bring me a winding sheet;
When I may grave have made
Let winds and tempests beat:
Then down I'll lie as cold as clay,
True love doth pass away!!
Zimbad3.peperonity.com
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