John Fletcher (20 December 1579 - 29 August 1625 / Rye, Sussex, England)
AWAY, delights! go seek some other dwelling,
For I must die.
Farewell, false love! thy tongue is ever telling
Lie after lie.
For ever let me rest now from thy smarts;
Alas, for pity go
And fire their hearts
That have been hard to thee! Mine was not so.
Never again deluding love shall know me,
For I will die;
And all those griefs that think to overgrow me
Shall be as I:
For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry--
'Alas, for pity stay,
And let us die
With thee! Men cannot mock us in the clay.'
Comments about this poem (Away, Delights by John Fletcher )
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