JOHN FLETCHER
My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!
��210. Hymn to Tan
CING his praises that doth keep ^ Our flocks from harm. Pan, the father of our sheep ;
And arm in arm Tread we softly in a round, Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground Fills the music with her sound.
Pan, O great god Pan, to thee
Thus do we sing ! Thou who keep'st us chaste and free
As the young spring : Ever be thy honour spoke From that place the morn is broke To that place day doth unyoke !
211. Away, 'Delights
A WAY, delights ! go seek some other dwelling,
- For I must die.
Farewell, false love! thy tongue is ever telling
Lie after lie.
For ever let me rest now from thy smarts ; Alas, for pity go And fire their hearts
That have been hard to thee ! Mine was not so.
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