Burst forth, my tears, assist my forward grief,
And show what pain imperious Love provokes.
Kind tender lambs, lament Love`s scant relief
And pine, since pensive Care my freedom yokes.
O pine...
×èòàòü äàëüøå
Äæîí Äîóëåíä (1563–1626)
The First Booke of Songs or Ayres (1597): ¹ 8 `Burst forth, my tears` Ñêà÷àòü íîòû
Burst forth, my tears, assist my forward grief,
And show what pain imperious Love provokes. Kind tender lambs, lament Love`s scant relief And pine, since pensive Care my freedom yokes. O pine... ×èòàòü äàëüøå
Burst forth, my tears, assist my forward grief,
And show what pain imperious Love provokes. Kind tender lambs, lament Love`s scant relief And pine, since pensive Care my freedom yokes. O pine to see me pine, my tender flocks. Sad, sad pining Care, that never may have peace, At Beauty`s gate in hope of pity knocks. But Mercy sleeps while deep Disdain increase, And Beauty Hope in her fair bosom locks. O grieve to hear my grief, my tender flocks. Like, like to the winds my sighs have winged been, Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks. I plead, yet she repineth at my teen. O ruthless rigour harder than the rocks, That both the shepherd kills and his poor flocks. Õ Ñâåðíóòü |
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