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Thomas Campion

The Fovrth Booke of Ayres


XVI. Since shee, euen shee

        1  Since shee, eu'n shee, for whom I liu'd,
     Sweet she by Fate from me is torne,
        Why am not I of sence depriu'd,
     Forgetting I was euer borne ?
           Why should I languish hating light ?
           Better to sleepe an endlesse night.

        2  Be't eyther true or aptly fain'd,
     That some of Lethes water write,
        'Tis their best med'cine that are pain'd,
     All thought to loose of past delight.
           O would my anguish vanish so ?
           Happy are they that neyther know.



Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer