Ile sing no more, nor will I longer write Of that sweet Lady, or that gallant Knight: Ile sing no more of Frosts, Snowes, Dews and Showers; No more of Groves, Meades, Springs, and wreaths of Flowers: Ile write no more, nor will I tell or sing Of Cupid, and his wittie coozning: Ile sing no more of death, or shall the grave No more my Dirges, and my Trentalls have. |