A Book of old English love songs . so ungrateful fancy,From such a female frenzy,From them that use men thus,Good Lord, deliver us! Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it saidThat Love is dead ? [7] & Dirge His deathbed, peacocks Folly;His winding sheet is Shame; His will, False Seeming wholly ;His sole executor, Blame. From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female frenzy, . From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us ! Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,For Love is dead; Sir Wrong his tomb ordainethMy mistress marble heart; Which epitaph containeth,Her eyes were on
A Book of old English love songs . so ungrateful fancy,From such a female frenzy,From them that use men thus,Good Lord, deliver us! Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it saidThat Love is dead ? [7] & Dirge His deathbed, peacocks Folly;His winding sheet is Shame; His will, False Seeming wholly ;His sole executor, Blame. From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female frenzy, . From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us ! Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,For Love is dead; Sir Wrong his tomb ordainethMy mistress marble heart; Which epitaph containeth,Her eyes were once his dart. From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female frenzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us ! Alas, I lie; rage hath this error bred;Love is not dead ; Love is not dead, but sleepeth,In her unmatched mind, [8] 0 2E>irge Where she his counsel keepeth,Till due deserts she find. Therefore from so vile fancy,To call such wit a frenzy,Who Love can temper thus,Good Lord, deliver us. — Sir Philip [9]
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1897
