To the Tune of, In Fayth I Cannot Keepe My Father's Sheepe

C LORIS , it is not thy disdaine
Can ever cover with dispaire
Or in cold ashes hide that care
Which I have fedd with soe long paine.
I may perhaps myne eyes refraine
And fruiteless words noe more impart
But yet still serve, still serve thee in my hearte.

What though I spend my haplesse dayes,
In finding entertainements out
Carelesse of what I goe about,
Or seeke my peace in skillfull wayes
Applying to my Eyes new rays
Of Beauty, and another flame
Unto my Heart, my Heart is still the same.

'Tis true that I could love noe face
Inhabited by cold disdayne
Taking delight in others paine.
Thy lookes are full of native grace,
Since then by chance scorne there hath place
'Tis to be hop'd I may remove
This scorne one day, one day by endless love.
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