Epitaphes, epigrams, songs and sonets with a discourse of the friendly affections of Tymetes to Pyndara his ladie. Newly corrected with additions, and set out by George Turbervile Gentleman.

The dispairing Louer craues eyther mer∣cie in time at his Ladies hands, or cruell death.

LIke as the fearefull Fouls within the Fawcons foote Doth yéelde himselfe to die, and sées none other boote: Euen so dread I (my Deare) least ruth in thée will want, To mée that am thy thrall, who fearing death doe pant. So fast I am in Gyue within your beauties Gayle, As thence to make a breath no engin may preuaile. The hart within my breast with trembling feare doth quake: And saue your loue (my Deare) nought can my torment slake. To slea a yéelding pray I iudge it not your kinde: Your beautie bids mée hope more ruth in you to finde. Where Nature hath yformde such featurde shape to showe, There hath she closde in breast a hart for grace to growe.

Wherefore my lingring paines redresse with ruthfull hart: And doe in time become Phisition to my smart. Oh showe thy selfe a friende and Natures Impe to bee, As thou a Woman art by kinde to womans kinde agrée. But if you can not finde in hart my lyfe to saue, But that you long to sée your thrall lye deade in graue: Sende mée the fatall toole, and cruell cutting knife: And thou shalt see me rid my wretched limmes of life. No lesse to like thy minde than to abridge my smart: Which were an yll rewarde for such a good desart. Of both I count it least by cursed death to fall, Than ruthlesse here to liue and aye to be a thrall.