The time is come I must departe, from thee ah famous Citie: I never yet to rue my smart, did finde that thou hadst pitie. Wherefore small cause ther is, that I should greeve from thee go: But many Women foolyshly, lyke me, and other moe. Doe such a fyxed fancy set, on those which least desarve, That long it is ere wit we get, away from them to swarve. But tyme with pittie oft wyl tel to those that wil her try: Whether it best be more to mell, or utterly defye. And now hath time me put in mind, of thy great cruelnes: That never once a help wold finde, to ease me in distres. Thou never yet, woldst credit geve to boord me for a yeare: Nor with Apparell me releve except thou payed weare. No, no, thou never didst me good, nor ever wilt I know: Yet am I in no angry moode, but wyll, or ere I goe In perfect love and charytie. my Testament here write: And leave to thee such Treasurye, as I in it recyte. Now stand a side and geve me leave to write my latest Wyll: And see that none you do deceave, of that I leave them tyl. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY by ROBERT BURNS MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH by WILLIAM JOHNSON CORY SONNET (3) by CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY TO ONE IN A GARDEN by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE BATTLE MUSIC by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE THING TO DO by GAMALIEL BRADFORD THE MORNING STAR by EMILY JANE BRONTE |