Ah, the sighs that come from my heart
by William Cornysh
[BL Royal Appendix MS. 58, f. 3r.]
A the syghes that come fro my hert,
They greue me passyng sore;
Syth I must fro my loue depart,
Ffarewell, my joye, for euermore.
Oft to me wyth hire goodly face
She was wont to cast an eye,
And now absence to me in place;
Alas, for woe I dye, I dye!
I was wonte hir to beholde,
And takyn in armys twayne,
And now, wyth syghes manyfolde,
Farewell, my joye, & welcome, payne!
A, mythynke that I se hire yete,
As wolde to gode that I myght!
There myght no joyes compare wyth hyt
Unto my hart to make hyt lyght.
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