Текст оригинала на английском языке
A Constant Lover Lamenteth
SINCE fortune's wrath envieth the wealth Wherein I reigned, by the sight Of that, that fed mine eyes by stealth With sour, sweet, dread, and delight; Let not my grief move you to moan, For I will weep and wail alone. Spite drave me into Boreas' reign, Where hoary frosts the fruits do bite, When hills were spread, and every plain With stormy winter's mantle white; And yet, my dear, such was my heat, When others froze, then did I sweat. And now, though on the sun I drive, Whose fervent flame all things decays; His beams in brightness may not strive With light of your sweet golden rays; Nor from my breast his heat remove The frozen thoughts, graven by Love. Ne may the waves of the salt flood Quench that your beauty set on fire; For though mine eyes forbear the food, That did relieve the hot desire; Such as I was, such will I be; Your own; what would ye more of me?
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