Me me and none but me,
dart home O gentle death
And quicklie, for
I draw too long this idle breath.
O howe I long till I
may fly to heaven above,
Unto my faithfull and
beloved turtle dove.
Like to the silver Swanne,
before my death I sing:
And yet alive
my fatall knell I helpe to ring.
Still I desire from earth
and earthly joyes to flie,
He never happie liv’d,
that cannot love to die.
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