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THE FIRST BOOKE OF
SONGS OR AYRES

J o h n  D o w l a n d

1597 [1613]

 

XII. Rest a while you cruell cares.


      Rest a while you cruell cares,
      Be not more seuere then loue.
      Beautie kils and beautie spares,
      And sweet smiles sad sighes remoue :
      Laura, faire queene of my delight,
      Come grant me loue in loues despite,
      And if I euer faile to honor thee :
            Let this heauenly light I see,
            Bee as darke as hell to me.

      If I speake, my words want wait,
      Am I mute, my heart doth breake,
      If I sigh, she fears deceit,
      Sorrow then for me must speake :
      Cruell, vnkind, with fauour view
      The wound that first was made by you :
      And if my torments fayned be,
            Let this heauenly light I see
            Be as darke as hell to mee.

      Neuer houre of pleasing rest
      Shall reuiue my dying ghost,
      Till my soule hath repossest,
      The sweet hope which loue hath lost :
      Laura redeeme the soule that dies,
      By furie of thy murdering eyes :
      And if it proue vnkinde to thee,
            Let this heauenly light I see
            Be as darke as hell to mee.
    

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