What delight can they enioy,
Whose harts are not their owne ?
But are gon abroade astray,
And to others bosomes flowne.
Seely comforts, seely Ioy,
Which fall and ryse as others moue,
Who seldome vse to turne our way,
And therefore Cloris will not loue :
For well I see,
How false men bee,
And let them pyne that Louers proue.
Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer