[Flye hence, O Joy, no longer heere abide]
Flye hence, O Joy, no longer heere abide,
Too great thy pleasures are for my despaire
To looke on, losses now must prove my fare;
Who not long since on better foode relide.
But foole, how oft had I Heav’ns changing spi’de
Before of mine owne fate I could have care:
Yet now past time I can too late beware,
When nothings left but sorrowes faster ty’de.
While I enjoyd that Sunne, whose sight did lend
Me joy, I thought that day could have no end:
But soone a night came cloath’d in absence darke;
Absence more sad, more bitter then is gall,
Or death, when on true Lovers it doth fall;
Whose fires of love, disdaine reasts poorer sparke
