Goe nightly cares, the enemy to rest,
Forbeare a while to vexe my grieved sprite,
So long your weight hath lyne upon my breast,
that loe I live of life bereaved quite,
O give me time to draw my...
×èòàòü äàëüøå
Äæîí Äîóëåíä (1563–1626)
Ïåñíè èç ñáîðíèêà `A Pilgrimes Solace` (1612): ¹ 9 `Go nightly cares` Ñêà÷àòü íîòû
Goe nightly cares, the enemy to rest,
Forbeare a while to vexe my grieved sprite, So long your weight hath lyne upon my breast, that loe I live of life bereaved quite, O give me time to draw my... ×èòàòü äàëüøå
Goe nightly cares, the enemy to rest,
Forbeare a while to vexe my grieved sprite, So long your weight hath lyne upon my breast, that loe I live of life bereaved quite, O give me time to draw my weary breath, Or let me dye, as I desire the death. Welcome sweete death, oh life, no life, a hell, Then thus, and thus I bid the world farewell. False world farewell, the enemy to rest, now doe thy worst, I doe not weigh thy spight: Free from thy cares I live for ever blest, Enjoying peace and heavenly true delight. Delight, whom woes nor sorrowes shall amate, nor feares or teares disturbe her happy state. And thus I leave thy hopes, thy joyes untrue, and thus, and thus vaine world againe adue. Õ Ñâåðíóòü |
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