Where most my thoughts
Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking;
Where least I come, there most my heart abideth;
Where most I love, I never show my liking;
From what my mind doth hold, my body slideth:
I careless seem, where most my care dependeth;
A coy regard, where most my soul attendeth.
poem by John Wilbye
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Stay, Corydon, thou swain
Stay, Corydon, thou swain,
Talk not so soon of dying:
What though thy heart be slain,
What though thy love be flying?
She threatens thee, but dares not strike,
Thy nymph is light and shadow-like;
For if thou follow her, she'll fly from thee;
But if thou fly from her, she'll follow thee.
poem by John Wilbye
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Alas what hope of speeding
Alas what hope of speeding
Where hope beguiled lies bleeding?
She bade come when she spied me,
And when I came she flied me.
Thus when I was beguiled,
She at my sighing smiled.
But if you take such pleasure
Of hope and joy, my treasure,
By deceit to bereave me,
Love me, and so deceive me.
poem by John Wilbye
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O wretched man!
O wretched man! Why lov’st thou earthly life?
Which nought enjoys but cares and endless trouble;
What pleasure here, but breeds a world of grief?
What hour’s ease, that anguish doth not double;
No earthly joys, but have their discontents;
Then loathe that life, which causeth such laments
poem by John Wilbye
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Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting
Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
And then behold your lips, where sweet Love harbours,
My eyes present me with a double doubting.
For, viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
Whether the roses be your lips or your lips the roses.
poem by John Wilbye
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There is a jewel
There is a jewel, which no Indian mines
Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit,
It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
Makes water wine; turns wooden cups to gold;
The homely whistle, to sweet music’s strain.
Seldom it comes, to few from Heaven sent,
That much in little, all in nought content.
poem by John Wilbye
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Cruel, behold my heavy ending
Cruel, behold my heavy ending,
See what you wrought by your disdaining.
Causeless I die, love still attending
Your hopeless pity of my complaining.
Suffer those eyes which thus have slain me,
With speed to end their killing power,
So shall you prove how love doth pain me,
And see me die still your.
poem by John Wilbye
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Hard destinies are love and beauty parted
Hard destinies are love and beauty parted,
Fair Daphne so disdainful!
Cupid, thy shafts are too unjustly darted;
Fond love, thy wounds are painful:
But sith my lovely jewel
Is prov’d so coy and cruel,
I’ll live and frolic in her beauty’s treasure,
But languish, faint, and die in her displeasure
poem by John Wilbye
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Love Not Me for Comely Grace
Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face;
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart:
For those may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever.
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why;
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.
poem by John Wilbye
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I live, and yet methinks I do not breathe
I live, and yet methinks I do not breathe,
I thirst, and drink, and drink, and thirst again,
I sleep, and yet I dream I am awake,
I hope for that I have; I have and want:
I sing and sigh; I love and hate at once.
Oh! tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar
Doth cause such want in store, in peace such war?
poem by John Wilbye
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