large/10730/rhomboidal_dirge_1604/dirge_wither_jdl_64kb_10
large/10730/rhomboidal_dirge_1604/dirge_wither_jdl_64kb
English
10730
I, but awhile ago, (you cruel powers!) In spite of fortune, cropped contentment's sweetest flowers, And yet unscornèd, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she, That ever was beloved of man, or eyes did ever see! I BUT A WHILE AGO YOU CRUEL POWERS IN SPITE OF FORTUNE CROPT CONTENTMENT SWEET FLOWERS AND YET UNSCORNED SERVE A GENTLE NYMPH THE FAIREST SHE THAT EVER WAS BELOVED OF MAN HER EYES DID EVER SEE
us where is he Joys not more the whilst he lies Sunning in his mistress' eyes. Than in all the glimmering light Of a starry winter's night? Note the beauty of an eye, And if aught you praise it by Leave such passion in your mind, Let my reason's eye be blind. Mark if ever red or white Anywhere gave such delight As when they have taken place In a worthy woman's face. From _Faire Virtue_. Rhomboidal Dirge. Ah me! Am I the swain That late from sorrow free Did all the cares on earth disdain? And still untouched, as at some safer games, Played with the burning coals of love, and beauty's flames? Was't I could dive, and sound each passion's secret depth at will? And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise, by help of reason still? And am I now, O heavens! for trying this in vain, So sunk that I shall never rise again? Then let despair set sorrow's string, For strains that doleful be; And I will sing, Ah me! But why, O fatal time, Dost thou constrain that I Should perish in my youth's sweet prime?  RUMBOIDAL DIRGE BY GEORGE WITHER READ FOR LIVERPOXTA ORG BY JAMES LEAN AH ME AM I THE SWAIN THAT LATE FROM SORROW FREE DID ALL THE CARES ON EARTH DISDAIN AND STILL UNTOUCHED AS AT SOME SAFER GAMES PLAYED WITH THE BURNING COALS OF LOVE AND BEAUTY'S FLAMES WHILST I COULD DIVE AND SOUND EACH PASSION'S SECRET DEPTH AT WILL AND FROM THOSE HUGE O'ERWHELMINGS RISE BY HELP OF REASON STILL AM I NOW O HEAVENS FOR TRYING THIS IN VAIN SO SUNK THAT I SHALL NEVER RISE AGAIN AND LET DESPAIRS THAT SORROW STRING FOR STRAINS THAT DOLEFUL BE AND I WILL SING AH ME BUT WHY O FATAL TIME DOST THOU CONSTRAIN THAT I SHALL PERISH IN MY YOUTH'S SWEET PRIME
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