This My Friend I Do Know. Poem by James Wade

It doth pierce thy heart
With many a great and sorrowful woe,
To gaze upon her fair beauty,
Tis more comely than the Autumn doe.
So in this forest green soo lush,
Let no wicked falsehood be companion to us.

This my friend I know;

For cause of her beauty thy heart doth sing,
With earnest desire to be her king.
This comely queen of beauty rare,
Thy love for her with caution share.
The axe man's blade to surely dread,
To speak thy heart will mean thy head.
With thirst for blood the iron doth sing,
To part the head from thy gentle being.

Thy want of her I dare not blame,
For I've oft been guilty of the same.
T'was not a queen I did desire,
But a maid in Darlington,
Found near Fawkes'fire.
For her sweet love my heart doth pine,
Will ne'er so slightly be;
Securely locked within my heart,
She always is with me.

Perchance one come to ply her charms,
Her efforts to be in vain;
My heart belongs to Darlington,
Held fast by her sweet chains.
This I know of surety,
And ne'er do I regret,
I hold in comfort knowledge,
That my heart is firmly set.

So now you know my tale fair friend,
And surely I know your's.
I dare say I should take this day,
And set these words to verse.
Yes my friend I share your pain,
And also share your woe;
For a similar fate we truly await,
As sure as tall grasses grow.

So let us go forth to speak our heart,
The axe man does await,
With shining iron that yearns with thirst,
That only our blood can slake.
With heart of steel draw courage near,
This trial is near to done.
When all is fulfilled on this fateful day,
The battle we will have won.

Our weapon this day not sword nor spear,
But the strength that lies within.
Deep down inside where love abides,
Will slay the foe most grim.
Let us recall most cheerfully
The days of youth and love;
Before we give our neck the block,
Make peace with the Lord above.

Through struggle and strife,
We've lived this life;
And happily near its end,
With heart thats set lets not rergret,
That Darlington was,
Our heart, our love, our friend.

This tale may seem to some,
A most unhappy prose.
When in fact not prose at all,
Just the muse of one's happy woes.
Now you see the comedy,
You thought that there were two,
When in fact its only one,
With a heart that sings most blue.

Fail to shed a tear for me,
That was not my intent;
The love I've had for Darlington,
Is a heart well and truly spent.
Upon the scaffold the axe man stands,
My neck his blade awaits,
Ive said my prayer and made my peace,
Resigned unto my fate.

If I had final words to say
To young hearts bright and gay,
Would be to take these parts
Unto their young hearts,
So that love might rule their way.