09.01.2011, 12:53
Alexander Craig
1567 - 1627
How oft hast thou with siuet smelling breath,
Told how thou lovd'st me, lovd'st me best of al;
And to repay my love, my zeale, my fayth,
Said to thy captive thou wast but a thrall?
And when I wound for comfort on thee call,
"Be treu to mee deare to my soule," said I;
Then sweetly quhespering would thou say, "I shall,"
And echo-like, "deare to my soule," replie.
But breach of fayth now seemes no fault to thee,
Old promises new perjuries do prove.
Apes turfe the whelps they love from tree to tree
And crush them to the death with too much love.
My too much love I see hath chang'd thee so
That from a friend thou art become a foe.
1567 - 1627
How oft hast thou with siuet smelling breath,
Told how thou lovd'st me, lovd'st me best of al;
And to repay my love, my zeale, my fayth,
Said to thy captive thou wast but a thrall?
And when I wound for comfort on thee call,
"Be treu to mee deare to my soule," said I;
Then sweetly quhespering would thou say, "I shall,"
And echo-like, "deare to my soule," replie.
But breach of fayth now seemes no fault to thee,
Old promises new perjuries do prove.
Apes turfe the whelps they love from tree to tree
And crush them to the death with too much love.
My too much love I see hath chang'd thee so
That from a friend thou art become a foe.