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Thomas Campion

The first Booke of Ayres



1 All lookes be pale, harts cold as stone,
For Hally now is dead, and gone,
              Hally in whose sight,
                    Most sweet sight,
              All the earth late tooke delight.
      Eu'ry eye weepe with mee,
      Ioyes drwn'd in teares must be.

2 His Iu'ry skin, his comely hayre,
His Rosie cheekes so cleare, and faire :
              Eyes that once did grace,
                    His bright face,
              Now in l??m all want their place.
      Eyes and hearts weepe with mee,
      For who so kinde as hee ?

3 His youth was like an Aprill flowre,
Adorn'd with beauty, loue, and powre,
              Glory strow'd his way,
                    Whose wreaths gay,
              Now are all turn'd to decay.
      Then againe weepe with mee,
      None feele more cause then wee.

4 No more may his wisht sight returne,
His golden Lampe no more can burne;
              Quencht is all his flame,
                    His hop't fame,
              Now hat blest him nought but name.
      For him all weepe with mee,
      Since more him none shall see.


Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer