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After that loue so strong and firme a fort
Had built within my brest, vnto his minde,
Louing, a death I rather would support,
Then now to liue after another sort,
Or for my selfe in libertie to finde.
For speedie death I knowe must be my fate
With such a life, as now I doe endure,
With mine owne handes to end this hard debate,
To cruell death I will set ope the gate,
And in my brest will lodge it most secure.
Who doubts that if but once she came to knowe
My greeuous paines and passions which I feele,
But that to me some pitie she would showe,
Though in her brest, where pitie yet may growe,
She had a hart harder then any steele.
Who doubtes, if that she did but knowe the smart,
Her louer feeles, his plaintes and endlesse mone,
But that she would with milde and gentle hart
Pitie his case, although she had each part
Of it, as hard as craggie Dimond stone.
Orpheus, when descended into hell
For faire Euridice his wife, and past
The triple-headed-dog, that did not yell,
Nor barke, the Fiends that in Auernum dwell,
Made not so milde, at his sweete sound agast,
As my tormenting passions, and my paine
Would mooue the hardest hart to heauinesse,
And euery hart in all the world againe,
And not without great reason, nor in vaine,
But that of my most cruell Shepherdesse.
Ah woe how haue I thus deluded beene?
How haue I liu’d deceiued in this art?
Since that so simply I did ouerweene,
That there could be no difference betweene
Her fairest face, and her most cruell hart.
What man betwixt the cope of heauen and hell
Is there of wit so simple and so slender,
That could but thinke, or once imagine well,
That such a hard, and cruell hart could dwell
In such a daintie bodie and so tender?
What humane wit (O greefe that I doe see it)
Would euer thinke that crueltie possest
Her hart, or such a Tygresse hart to be yet
Placed in her, whose outward shew to me yet
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