Перемещаю сюда весь Деверо, который откопал.
To plead my faith...

To plead my faith where faith had no reward,
To move remorse where favor is not borne,
To heap complaints where she doth not regard, --
Were fruitless, bootless, vain, and yield but scorn.

I lovéd her whom all the world admired,
I was refused of her that can love none;
And my vain hopes, which far too high aspired,
Is dead, and buried, and for ever gone.

Forget my name, since you have scorned my love,
And woman-like do not too late lament;
Since for your sake I do all mischief prove,
I none accuse nor nothing do repent.

I was as fond as ever she was fair,
Yet loved I not more than I now despair.

A Passion of my Lord of Essex

Happy were he could finish forth his fate
In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure
From all society, from love and hate
Of worldly folk; then might he sleep secure;
Then wake again, and ever give God praise,
Content with hip, with haws, and bramble-berry;
In contemplation passing all his days,
And change of holy thoughts to make him merry;
Who, when he dies, his tomb might be a bush,
Where harmless Robin dwells with gentle thrush.
—Happy were he!

Change Thy Mind

Change thy mind, since she doth change!
Let not fancy still abuse thee.
Thy untruth can not sem strange
When her falsehood doth excuse thee.
Love is dead and thou art free,
She doth live, but dead to thee.
Whilst she loved thee best a while,
See how she hath still delayed thee,
Using shows for her to beguile
Those vain hopes that have deceived thee.
Now thou seest, although too late,
Love loves truth, which women hate.

Love no more since she is gone --
She is gone, and loves another.
Being once deceived by one,
Leave her love, but love none other.
She was false -- bid her adieu;
She was best, but yet untrue.

Love, farewell, more dear to me
Than my life, which thou preservest.
Life, all joys are gone from thee,
Others have what thou deservest
Oh, my death doth spring frome hence,
I must die for her offence.

Die, but yet before thou die,
Make her know what she hath gotten;
She, in whom my hopes did lie,
Now is changed -- I, quite forgotten.
She is changed, but chang뤠base,
Baser in so vild a place.

Скроблится: Ян Андерсен
Активность мосска: хреновое