---

Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue's cloak:
Shall I call her good when she proves unkind.
Are those cleere fiers which vannish into smoake:
Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find.

No no shadows do for bodies stand,
Thou maist be abusde if thy sight be dim.
Cold love is like to words writ on sand,
Or to bubbles which upon the water swim.

Wilt thou be thus abused still,
Seeing that she will right thee never
If thou canst not orecome her will,
Thy love will thus be fruitless ever.

Was I so base that I might not aspire
Unto those high joyes which she houlds from me,
As they are high so high is my desire,
If she this deny what can granted be.

If she will yeeld to that which reason is,
It be reasons will that love should be just,
Love make me happy now by granting this,
Or cut off delayes if that dye I must.

Better a thousand times to dye.
Than to live thus tormented,
But remember it was I
Who for thy sake did dye contented.

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.