Ong Have I Made These Hills And Valleys Weary

John Wilbye

Long have I made these hills and valleys weary,
With noise of these my shrieks and cries that fill the air;
She only, who should make me merry,
Hears not my prayer:
That I, alas! misfortune-s son and heir,
Hope in none other hope but in despair.
O unkind and cruel! If thus my death may please thee,
Then die I will to ease thee:
Yet if I die, the world will thee control,
And write upon my tomb, O sweet departure,
Lo! here lies one, alas! poor soul,
A true love-s martyr.

(C) John Wilbye
03/10/2017

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