Madame, for you I little grieue to dye, In, and to whom I liue, because I loue. For if my ill doe please your dainty eye, It cannot me displease, nor greatly moue. Vnlesse a minde in you so cruell be, To kill your selfe, To make an end of mee. 2 Onely I grieue that all my life is you, Who by my death must needs in danger be : For if I dye it cannot be but true, The sweetest of my life must die with mee; If that a minde in you so cruell be, To kill yourselfe, to make an end of mee. 3 Wherefore, if of my life you haue no care, Which I esteeme but onely for your sake : Yet of your owne, which death it selfe would spare, I am in hope you will some pitty take; Vnlesse a minde in you so cruell be, To kill your selfe, to make an end of mee.
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