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A Lady Forsaken Complayneth If pleasures be in painfulness, in pleasures doth my body rest, If joyes accord with carefulness, a joyful hart is in my brest: If prison strong be liberty, in liberty long have I been, If joyes accord with misery, who can compare a lyfe to myne: Who can unbind that is sore bound? who can make free yet is sore thrall, Or how can any means be found to comfort such a wretch withall? None can but he yet hath my hart, convert my pains to comfort then, Yet since his servant I became, most like a bondman have I been: Since first in bondage I became, my word and deed was ever such, That never once he could me blame, except for loving him too much. Which I can judge no just offence, nor cause that I deserved disdayne, Except he mean through false pretense, through forgèd love to make a trayne. Nay, nay, alas, my fainèd thoughts my freded and my fainèd ruth, My pleasures past, my present plaints, shew well I mean but to much truth: But since I can not him attain, against my will I let him goe, And lest he glorie at my pain, I wyl attempt to cloke my woe. Youth learne by me but do not prove, for I have provèd to my pain, What greeuous greefes do grow by love, and what it is to love in vaine. Edward Dyer's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1422 |
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