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Sweete Kate of late
Ran away and left me playning.
Abide I cride,
Or I die with thy disdayning.
Tee hee hee, quoth shee,
Gladly would I see
Any man to die with loving,
Never any yet
Died of such a fitte
Neither have I fear of proving.
Unkind, I find
Thy delight is in tormenting,
Abide I cride,
Or I die with thy consenting.
Tee hee hee, quoth shee,
Make no foole of me,
Men I know have oathes at pleasure,
But their hopes attaind
They bewray, they faind
And their oathes are kept at leasure.
Her words, like swords,
Cut my sorry heart in sunder,
Her floutes with doubts
Kept my heart´s affections under.
Tee hee hee, quoth shee,
What a foole is he,
Stand in awe of once denying.
Cause I had enough
To become more rough,
So I did a happy trying |
