Oft thou hast with greedy eare,
Drunke my notes and wordes of pleasure;
In affections equall measure,
Now my songs of sorrow heare.
Since from thee my griefes doe grow,
Whom aliue I pris'd so deare :
The more my ioy, the more my woe.
2 Musicke though it sweetens paine
Yet no whit empaires lamenting:
But in passions like consenting,
Makes them constant that complaine:
And enchantes their fancies so,
That all comforts they disdaine,
And flie from ioy to dwell with woe.
Close
Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer
www.harald-lillmeyer.kulturserver.de