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Thomas Campion

The Fovrth Booke of Ayres


XXI. If any hath the heart to kill

     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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