Excerpt from Poetical Works, Vol. 2 of 6
The Romaunt of Margret.
Can my affections find out nothing best,
But still and still remove? Quarles.
I.
I Plant a tree whose leaf
The yew-tree leaf will suit:
But when its shade is o'er you laid,
Turn round and pluck the fruit.
Now reach my harp from off the wall
Where shines the sun aslant;
The sun may shine and we be cold!
O hearken, loving hearts and bold,
Unto my wild romaunt. Margret, Margret.
II.
Sitteth the fair ladye
Close to the river side
Which runneth on with a merry tone
Her merry thoughts to guide:
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