Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sinne was too much hope of thee, lov'd girl
Several yeeres thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O, could I loose all father, now. For why
Will man lament the state he should envie?
To have so soone scap'd worlds, and fleshes rage,
And, if no other miserie, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say here doth lye
bern. alda her best piece of poetrie.
For whose sake, hence-forth, all his vowes be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
--
edited to change name.
17-Aug-2011 16:53:11
- Last edited on
17-Aug-2011 16:55:42
by
A BrokenBoy