The fatal hour comes on apace,
Which I had rather die than see,
For when fate calls you from this place,
You go to certain misery.
The thought does stab me to the heart,
And gives me pangs no... Читать дальше

The fatal hour comes on apace,
Which I had rather die than see,
For when fate calls you from this place,
You go to certain misery.
The thought does stab me to the heart,
And gives me pangs no word can speak,
It wracks me in each vital part,
Sure when you go, my heart will break.
Since I for you so much endure,
May I not hope you will believe,
’Tis you alone these wounds can cure,
Which are the fountains of my grief.

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