Leaue prolonging thy distresse:
All delayes afflict the dying.
Many lost sighes long I spent, to her for mercy crying;
But now, vaine mourning, cease:
Ile dye, and mine owne griefes release.
Thus departing from this light
To those shades that end all sorrow,
Yet a small time of complaint, a little breat Ile borrow,
To tell my once delight
I dye alone through her despight.
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