from Obeservations in the Art of English Poesie by Thomas Campion

Follow, followe,
Through with mischiefe
Arm'd, like whirlewind,
Now she flyes thee;
Time can conquer
Loves unkindnes;
Love can alter
Times disgraces;
Till death faint not
Then, but followe.
Could I catch that
Nimble trayter,
Skornefull Lawra,
Swift foote Lawra,
Soone that would I
seeke avengement?
Even submissely
Prostrate then to
Beg for mercye.

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