A Fancy
Hee that his mirth hath loste,
Whose comfort is dismaid,
Whose hope is vaine, whose faith is scorned,
Whose trust is all betraid,
If he have held them deare,
And cannot cease to moane,
Come, let him take his place by me;
He shall not rue alone.
But if the smalest sweete
Be mixt with all his sowre;
If in the day, the moneth, the yeare,
He finde one lightsome hower,
Then rest he by himself;
He is noe mate for me,
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poem by Sir Edward Dyer
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The Faire Amarillis
Amarillis was full fayre:
The goodlyest mayde was she
From the east unto the west
That heaven's eye could se.
To Diana at her birthe
Her parents did her geve,
All untouchte a mayden's lyfe
Durynge her dayes to lyue:
Whose beheste she constant kepte
And whollye was enclynde
To be free to get great prayse
And win eche worthye mynde.
As there was good cause enoughe
So was she honored most.
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poem by Sir Edward Dyer
Added by Poetry Lover
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