I

To the tune of "Non credo gia che piu infelice amante."

II.

Alas! she hath no other cause of anguish, But Tereus love, on her by strong hand wroken, Wherein she suff九-九-藏-書ering, all her spirits languish, Full womanlike, complains her will was broken, But I, who daily craving, Cannot have to content me, Have more cause to lament me九九藏書, Since wanting is more woe than too much having. O Philomela fair! O take some gladness, That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness: Thine earth now springs, mine fade九_九_藏_書th; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late bare earth, proud of new clothihttps://read.99csw.comng, springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making; And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth What grief her breast oppresseth, For Tereus force on her chttps://read.99csw.comhaste will prevailing. O Philomela fair! O take some gladness, That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness: Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.