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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408212" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Complaint Of A Dying Lover</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IN winter's just return, when Boreas gan his reign,<br>And every tree unclothed fast, as nature taught them plain :<br>In misty morning dark, as sheep are then in hold,<br>I hied me fast, it sat me on, my sheep for to unfold.<br>And as it is a thing that lovers have by fits,<br>Under a palm I heard one cry as he had lost his wits.<br>Whose voice did ring so shrill in uttering of his plaint,<br>That I amazed was to hear how love could him attaint.<br>' Ah ! wretched man,' quoth he ; 'come, death, and rid this woe ;<br>A just reward, a happy end, if it may chance thee so.<br>Thy pleasures past have wrought thy woe without redress ;<br>If thou hadst never felt no joy, thy smart had been the less.'<br>And rechless* of his life, he gan both sigh and groan :<br>A rueful thing me thought it was, to hear him make such moan.<br>'Thou cursed pen,' said he, 'woe-worth the bird thee bare;<br>The man, the knife, and all that made thee, woe be to their share :<br>Woe-worth the time and place where I so could indite ;<br>And woe be it yet once again, the pen that so can write.<br>Unhappy hand ! it had been happy time for me,<br>If when to write thou learned first, unjointed hadst thou be.'<br>Thus cursed he himself, and every other wight,<br>Save her alone whom love him bound to serve both day and night.<br>Which when I heard, and saw how he himself fordid ;1<br>Against the ground with bloody strokes, himself e'en there to rid ;<br>Had been my heart of flint, it must have melted tho' ;<br>For in my life I never saw a man so full of woe.<br>With tears for his redress I rashly to him ran,<br>And in my arms I caught him fast, and thus I spake him than :<br>' What woful wight art thou, that in such heavy case<br>Torments thyself with such despite, here in this desart place ?'<br>Wherewith as all aghast, fulfill'd with ire and dread,<br>He cast on me a staring look, with colour pale and dead :<br>' Nay, what art thou,' quoth he, 'that in this heavy plight<br>Dost find me here, most woful wretch, that life hath in despite ?'<br>' I am,' quoth I, 'but poor, and simple in degree ;<br>A shepherd's charge I have in hand, unworthy though I be.'<br>With that he gave a sigh, as though the sky should fall,<br>And loud, alas ! he shrieked oft, and, 'Shepherd,' gan he call,<br>'Come, hie thee fast at once, and print it in thy heart,<br>So thou shalt know, and I shall tell thee, guiltless how I smart.'<br>His back against the tree sore feebled all with faint,<br>With weary sprite he stretcht him up, and thus he told his plaint :<br>' Once in my heart,' quoth he, 'it chanced me to love<br>Such one, in whom hath Nature wrought, her cunning for to prove.<br>And sure I cannot say, but many years were spent,<br>With such good will so recompens'd, as both we were content.<br>Whereto then I me bound, and she likewise also,<br>The sun should run his course awry, ere we this faith forego.<br>Who joyed then but I ? who had this worldès bliss ?<br>Who might compare a life to mine, that never thought on this ?<br>But dwelling in this truth, amid my greatest joy,<br>Is me befallen a greater loss than Priam had of Troy.<br>She is reversed clean, and beareth me in hand,<br>That my deserts have given cause to break this faithful band :<br>And for my just excuse availeth no defence.<br>Now knowest thou all ; I can no more ; but, Shepherd, hie thee hence,<br>And give him leave to die, that may no longer live :<br>Whose record, lo ! I claim to have, my death I do forgive.<br>And eke when I am gone, be bold to speak it plain,<br>Thou hast seen die the truest man that ever love did pain.'<br>Wherewith he turned him round, and gasping oft for breath,<br>Into his arms a tree he raught, and said : 'Welcome my death !<br>Welcome a thousand fold, now dearer unto me<br>Than should, without her love to live, an emperor to be.'<br>Thus in this woful state he yielded up the ghost ;<br>And little knoweth his lady, what a lover she hath lost.<br>Whose death when I beheld, no marvel was it, right<br>For pity though my heart did bleed, to see so piteous sight.<br>My blood from heat to cold oft changed wonders sore ;<br>A thousand troubles there I found I never knew before ;<br>'Tween dread and dolour so my sprites were brought in fear,<br>That long it was ere I could call to mind what I did there.<br>But as each thing hath end, so had these pains of mine :<br>The furies past, and I my wits restor'd by length of time.<br>Then as I could devise, to seek I thought it best<br>Where I might find some worthy place for such a corse to rest.<br>And in my mind it came, from thence not far away,<br>Where Cressid's love, king Priam's son, the worthy Troilus lay.<br>By him I made his tomb, in token he was true,<br>And as to him belonged well, I covered it with blue.<br>Whose soul by angels' power departed not so soon,<br>But to the heavens, lo ! it fled, for to receive his doom</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Howard">Henry Howard</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408212" data-title="Complaint Of A Dying Lover de Henry Howard" data-description="IN winter's just return, when Boreas gan his reign,
And every tree unclothed fast, as nature taught them plain :
In misty morning dark, as sheep are then in hold,
I hied me fast, it sat me on, my sheep for to unfold.
And as it is a thing that love..."></div>
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