Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/271

 RICHARD BARNEFIELD

Fte y fie, fie f now would she cry; TereUy Tereul by and by, That to hear her so complain Scarce I could from tears refrain; For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. Ah' thought I, thou mourn 'st in vain, None takes pity on thy pain. Senseless trees they cannot hear thee, Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee: King Pandion he is dead, All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; All thy fellow birds do sing Careless of thy sorrowing* Even so, poor bird, like thee, None alive will pity me.

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��THOMAS DEKKER 2/3 Sweet Content

thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?

O sweet content' Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd^

O punishment'

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd To add to golden numbers golden numbers?

O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny hey nonny nonny!

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