Lady Mary Wroth

[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
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