Retire from me yow pensive thoughts awhile

Retire from me yow pensive thoughts awhile

decayers of my youthe my strenth and lyvely blood

And lett sweete sleepe my troubled head begile

whilste yow goe bath your selfes in Laehis floode

Or yff nott soo, till I have taken reste

my thoughts goo lodge within my Mistresse breste

Make knowen to her my wounds as yett butt greene

disclose the sparkes nott growen to be a flame

Which tyme its selfe will make to playnely seene

excepte I cloke theis grieffs off myne with game

A readye way to flye nott fynde releefe

for who will rue on hym that hydes his griefe

Therefore my thoughts performe this last requeste

of my true harte a thrall become to love

that She may knowe from whence comes my unreste

as well as I her bewties force doo prove

Then will I hope this happie ende to see

pitty in her, and Joy to raygne in mee

Untill which tyme I vowe to rome about

in desarte woods tyll lyfe with love be spent

Where none but love shall knowe to fynd me oute

nor love himselfe, but from my mistres sent

For whose sweete sake to shewe on me her power

my weale for woe, my sweet I change for sowre.

And more then that for though through her disdaine

She chaunce to clyppe the wyngs off my desire

And of my hope throwe oute the latter mayne

and force with shame my fansies to retyre

Yett shall my love not ende with losse of breathe

for thow my Soule shalte serve her after deathe

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