Page:Bride's burial, or, The affectionate lovers (1).pdf/2



Bride's Burial, &c.

Come mourn, come mourn with me;

ye loyal lovrs all;

Lament my los in weeds of woe,

whom gripping death doth thrall

Like to the drooping vine,

cut by the gard‘ner's knife,

Even o my heart, with orry lain

doth mourn for my weet wife,

By death, that grizly Got,

my turtle dove was lain,

And I’m left, unhappy man,

to pend my days in vain.

Her beauty, late o bright,

like roles in their prime,

Is wated like the mountain now

by frot of Phœbus hine.