Ye sacred Fyres, and powers aboue,
Forge of desires working loue,
Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye
Vpon a Mayde in miserie.
My sacrifice is louers blood :
And from eyes salt teares a flood :
All which I spend, all which I spend
For thee Ascanio, my deare friend :
And though this houre I must feele
The bitter sower of pricking steele,
Yet ill or well, yet ill or well
To thee Ascanio still farewell
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Comments about this poem (Eurymine's Song by John Lyly )
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