Page:Bride's burial.pdf/2



OME mourn, come mourn with me,

ye loyal lovers all,

Lament my loſs in weeds of woe,

whom griping grief doth thrall,

Like to the dropping vine,

cut by the gardener's knife,

Even ſo my heart now ſlain,

doth bleed for my ſweet wife,

By death, that' grieſly ghoſt,

my turtle dove is ſlain,

And I am left ! unhappy man,

to ſpend my days in vain.

Her beauty late ſo bright,

like roſes in their prime,

Is waſted like the mountain ſnow,

by force of the ſunſhine,

Her fair red colour'd lips,

now pale, and wan her eyes.

That ſhone like any cryſtal.ſtar,

alas ! this light it dies.

Her pretty little hands,

her fingers long and ſmall,

In colour like the earthly ciay,

yea cold and ſtiff withal.

When as the morning grey,

her golden gate had ſpread,

And as the gliſt'ning fun aroſe,

forth from fair Titan's bed,

Then did my love awake,

moſt like a lilly flower,

And as the earthly queen of heaven,

to ſhone ſhe in her bower.

Arrayed was ſhe then,

like Flora in her pride,