No , no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
Although with cruell fire,
First throwne on my desire,
She sackes my rendred sprite.
For so a faire, a flame embraces
All the places,
Where that heat of all heates springeth,
That it bringeth
To my dying heart some pleasure,
Since his treasure
Burneth bright in fairest light. No, no, no, no.
No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
Although, &c.
Since our lives be not immortall,
But to mortall
Fetters tyed, do waite the hower
Of deathes power.
They have no cause to be sorie,
Who with glorie
End the way, where all men stay. No, no, no, no.
No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
Although, &c.
No man doubts, whom beautie killeth,
Faire death feeleth,
And in whome faire death proceedeth,
Glorie breedeth:
So that I in her beames dying,
Glorie trying,
Though in paine, cannot complaine. No, no, no, no.