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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www.harald-lillmeyer.kulturserver.de