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Thomas Campion


The Fovrth Booke of Ayres

1618

XIIII. Beauty is but a painted hell

     1 Beauty is but a painted hell,
             Aye me, aye me,
     Shee wounds them that admire it,
     Shee kils them that desire it.
             Giue her pride but fuell,
             No fire is more cruell.

     2 Pittie from eu'ry heart is fled,
             Aye me, aye me,
     Since false desire could borrow
     Teares of dissembled sorrow,
             Constant vowes turn truthlesse,
             Loue cruell, Beauty ruthlesse.

     3 Sorrow can laugh, and Fury sing,
             Aye me, aye me;
     My rauing griefes discouer
     I liu'd too true a louer :
             The first step to madnesse
             Is the excesse of sadnesse.
    

 

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