[Begin Pg. 10, Continue Stanza # 18] And that of whome the emptie mouth, / (At least) dooth make a semblaunce, / To feele my wounds that proceede of / Two eyes, to greene, and fayre. / O speake since thou canst not live ex- / cept I shall give the breathe: / And since my greevous voice, is one- / lie the nurce of thy [es]steme: / I crying Dian, why makest thou / Dye John, aunswer agen: / Wouldst thou I lov'de no more, / Or doost thou Prophesie my death. / O noble Nymph tell mee, or doost / Thou now inflame againe, / With the antiqueus amor, that / Thou lovedst so in vaine. / Or is it that remembring my / Love, I should pittie thine. / For the like dolor that thou hadst, / Even the like doo I suffer: / And the like amore that thou hadst, / Even the like doo I suffer: / And the like amore that thou hadst, / The like to mee dooth offer: / Save that thy love was not so fayre,/ Nor so cruelly as mine. // Elegia. 2. To the Gods. / 19.WHen the eye of the world dooth washe, / his golden shining heaire, / In the large Occean seas: and that / They have coverd the lyght: / Amurmuring repose, and a / Restfull and sleepy night, / Is spreded both over the earth, / The waters and the ayre. [End Pg. 10] /// [Begin Pg. 11, Continue Stanza # 19] But I chaunge nature then ? For than, / Doth my brightest Aurôr[a],/ In a sweete dreame present her selfe, / O dreame, no dreame: but well, / The Ambrozie, the Nectar, and / The Manna, Eternell./ And to be breefe, a vision that / I lyke a God adore. / Wherefore farewell, day of nights, and / Welcome night waking daye: / And farewell waking, of my sleepe, / Welcome sleepe, lyving joye. / But what say I, my wealth is false, / And my evill verita-ble: / And I plaine of them both, for I / Have in neither delight: / Except ye Gods will short[en] these dayes, / And eternishe this night: / And that God will doo it, shall / be a God charita-ble. // Elegia. 3. To his Diana. / 20.IF the secretnesse of my thoughtes, / Were opened to you, / Or if else my dolorous heart, / Had of speaking the usage: / Or (warrier) if my constancie, / Were painted in my visage: / Or that if ye knewe my torment, / How it is great and true. / Or, or if any golden wordes, / In well compased verse, / Could livelelie shewe the picture, / Of an amourous rage: / [Printer's Mark of "B.iy."] / [End Pg. 11] ///
1997-2005 by Mark Alexander.
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