Laura. The Toyes of a Traveller. Or. The Feast of Fancie - Part 1, 1
Fortune (cros frend to ever-conquring Love)
Our bodies (Ladie) hath devided farre,
But yet our constant minds she cannot move,
Which over strong for her devises are:
Woe's me, in England thou dost bide, and I
(Scarse shadow of my selfe) in Italy .
But let her doo her worst, and what is frail
And mortall seeke to seperate and undoo,
Yet what immortall is, she never shall:
A string too high for her to reach untoo.
In spite of envious seeds (by Malice sowne)
My hart shall ay be thine, and mine thine owne.
Our bodies (Ladie) hath devided farre,
But yet our constant minds she cannot move,
Which over strong for her devises are:
Woe's me, in England thou dost bide, and I
(Scarse shadow of my selfe) in Italy .
But let her doo her worst, and what is frail
And mortall seeke to seperate and undoo,
Yet what immortall is, she never shall:
A string too high for her to reach untoo.
In spite of envious seeds (by Malice sowne)
My hart shall ay be thine, and mine thine owne.
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