John Wilbye

(7 March 1574 - September 1638 / Brome, Suffolk)

Alas what hope of speeding


Alas what hope of speeding
Where hope beguiled lies bleeding?
She bade come when she spied me,
And when I came she flied me.
Thus when I was beguiled,
She at my sighing smiled.
But if you take such pleasure
Of hope and joy, my treasure,
By deceit to bereave me,
Love me, and so deceive me.

Submitted: Thursday, May 31, 2012

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