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Thomas Campion

The Fovrth Booke of Ayres


XIX. Her fayre inflaming eyes

     1  Her fayre inflaming eyes,
           Chiefe authors of my cares,
     I prai'd in humblest wise,
           With grace to view my teares :
                They beheld me broad awake,
                But alasse no ruth would take.

     2  Her lips with kisses rich,
           And words of fayre delight,
     I fayrely did beseech
           To pitty my sad plight :
                But a voyce from them brake forth
                As a whirle-winde from the North.

     3  Then to her hands I fled,
           That can giue heart and all,
     To them I long did plead,
           And loud for pitty call :
                But alas they put mee off,
                With a touch worse then a scoffe.

     4  So backe I straight return'd,
           And at her breast I knock'd ;
     Where long in vaine I mourn'd,
           Her heart so fast was lock'd :
                Not a word could passage finde,
                For a Rocke inclos'd her minde.

     5  Then downe my pray'rs made way
           To those most cornely parts,
     That make her flye or stay,
           As they affect deserts :
                But her angry feete thus mou'd
                Fled with all the parts I lou'd.

     6  Yet fled they not so fast
           As her enraged minde :
     Still did I after haste,
           Still was I left behinde,
                Till I found 't was to no end
                With a Spirit to contend.



Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer