Now I doth rise, but drowsily off some drunkards ditch,
After a coldsome shower I'd be good to go.
My heart's hango'er's have been withdrawn now from my reach;
And I wont e'er my girds again thus lower. No!
For I have cast my heart and all thy memories;
Now i hath like a grave so cold and so heartless
This fun'ral songs shalt cease hence to be mine symphonies.
How then, had I my love, my heart, my soul, not drain'd;
I broke my back to see that all you want'd you got,
Is this how, love, my bestest deeds are being refund'd,
That from thy graces 'sif a dog away be shot?
But dear, my life from now wilt never be so mirthless
For i've now happily found out better things to do
So I won't waste no more, so precious, time o'er you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem