1 Leaue prolonging thy distresse,
All delayes afflict the dying.
Many lost sighes long I spent, to her for mercy crying:
But now vaine mourning cease,
Ile dye, and mine owne griefes releafe.
2 Thus departing from this light
To those shades that end all sorrow,
Yet a small time of complaint, a little breath Ile borrow,
To tell my once delight
I dye alone through her despight.
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www.harald-lillmeyer.kulturserver.de