1 Though your strangenesse frets my hart,
Yet must not I complaine :
You perswade me 'tis but Art
That secret loue must faine.
If another you affect,
Tis but a shew t'auoid suspect,
Is this faire excusing ? O no, all is abusing.
2 Your wisht sight if I desire,
Suspitions you pretend,
Causelesse you your selfe retire,
While I in vaine attend :
This a Louer whets you say,
Still made more eager by delay.
Is this faire excusing ? O no, all is abusing.
3 When another holds your hand,
You sweare I hold your hart,
When my Riuals close doe stand,
And I sit farre apart,
I am neerer yet then they,
Hid in your bosome, as you say,
Is this faire excusing ? O no, all is abusing.
4 Would my Riual then I were,
Some els your secret friend :
So much lesser should I feare,
And not so much attend.
Then enioy you eu'ry one,
Yet I must seeme your friend alone,
Is this faire excusing ? O no, all is abusing.
see: Robert Iones, A Musicall Dreame, song I
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