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Rh If that I false my faith to thee, Or seeke to chaunge for any newe: If thoughts appeare so ill in me, If thou thy life shall iustly rew. Such kinde of woe, of woe: As friende or foe, might to me showe: Betide me than, Or wurse, if it may hap to man.

Then let vs ioy in this our loue: In spite of Fortunes wrath, my deere: Twoo willes in one, as dooth behooue, One loue in both, let still appeare: And I will be, will be, Piramus to thee, my owne Thisbie, So thou againe, My constant louer shalt remaine.

Vch bitter fruict thy loue doth yeelde, Such broken sleepes, such hope vnsure, Thy call so oft hath me beguilde. That I vnneth can well indure: But crie (alas) as I haue cause, Fie vpon Loue and all his Lawes.

Like Piramus, I sigh and grone, VVhom Stonie wals, keept from his loue, And as the wofull Palemon, A thousand stormes, for thee I prooue, Yet thou a cruell Tigers whelpe, All slaiest the hart, whom thou maist help.

A craggie Rocke, thy Cradle, was, And Tigers milke sure was thy foode, VVherby Dame Nature broought to passe, That like the Nurse should be thy moode: VVild and vnkinde, cruell and fell, to rent the hart that loues thee well.