1 If any hath the heart to kill, Come rid me of this wofull paine : For while I liue I suffer still, This cruell torment all in vaine. Yet none aliue but one can guesse What is the cause of my distresse. 2 Thanks be to heau'n, no grieuous smart, No maladies my limbes annoy : I beare a sound and sprightfull heart, Yet liue I quite depriu'd of ioy ; Since what I had in vaine I craue, And what I had not now I haue. 3 A Loue I had so fayre, so sweet, As euer wanton eye did see : Once by appointment wee did meete, Shee would, but ah it would not be : She gaue her heart, her hand shee gaue, All did I giue, shee nought could haue. 4 What Hagge did then my powers forespeake, That neuer yet such taint did feele ? Now shee reiects me as one weake, Yet am I all compos'd of steele. Ah this it it my heart doth grieue, Now though shee sees shee'le not belieue.
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