Poem by Henry VIII, King of England

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O my hart and O my hart!
My hart it is so sore,
Sens I must nedys from my love depart
And know no cunse wherefore. 

1. Wherto Shuld I Expresse
2. Though that Men do Call it Dotage
3. Though Some Saith That Youth Ruleth Me
4. The Time of Youth is to be Spent
5. Departure Is My Chef Payne

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