33

Fly hence O Joy, noe longer heere abide,
Too great thy pleasures are for my despaire
To looke on, losses now must prove my fare;
Who not long since on better foode relide.
But foole, how oft had I Heav'ns changing spi'de
Before of mine owne fate I could have care:
Yet now past time, I can too late beware,
When nothings left but sorrowes faster ty'de.
While I injoyd that Sunne, whose sight did lend
Me joy, I thought that day could have no end:
But soon a night came cloath'd in absence darke;
Absence more sad, more bitter then is gall,
Or death, when on true Lovers it doth fall;
Whose fires of love, disdaine reasts poorer sparke.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
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