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Mary Wroth's Poetry: An Electronic Edition

Wroth Poem - F57 - O mee the time is come to part

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F57 F57mod P57 P57mod

Song .

O mee the time is come to part,
and wth itt my lyfe=killing ſmart
fond hope leaue mee my deer must goe
to meet more ioy, and I more woe;
Wher still of mirth inioye thy fill
one is enough to ſuffer ill
my hart ſoe well to ſorrow=vſ'd
can better bee by new griefe bruſ'd;
Thou whom the heau'ns them ſelues like made
showld neuer ſitt in mourning shade
noe I alone must mourne, and end
who haue a lyfe in grief to spend,
My ſwiftest pace to wayling bent
shews ioye had butt ſome short time lent
to bide in mee wher woes must dwell,
and charme mee wth theyr cruell spell,
And yett when they theyr wichrafts try
they only make mee wish to dy
butt e're my faith in loue they change
in horrid darknes will I range;
Song ('O me the time is come')

O me the time is come to part,
    And with it my life-killing smart
    Fond hope leave me my dear must go
    To meet more joy, and I more woe;

Where still of mirth enjoy thy fill
    One is enough to suffer ill
    My heart so well to sorrow used
    Can better be by new grief* bruised;

Thou whom the heavens themselves like made
    Should never sit in mourning shade.
    No, I alone must mourn, and end
    Who have a life in grief to spend,

My swiftest pace to wailing* bent
    Shows joy had but some* short time lent
    To bide in me where woes must dwell,
    And charm me with their cruel spell.

And yet when they their witchcrafts try
    They only make me wish to die,
    But ere my faith in love they change
    In horrid darkness will I range.


This begins a sequence of eight songs. Roberts [P57] notes a parallel with AS song 5: 'My feet are turned to roots, my heart becometh lead:/No witchcraft is so evil as which man's mind destroyeth'.

'grief' = 'griefs' in P.
'wailing' = 'wailings' in P.
'some' = 'a' in P.
Song.

O me, the time is come to part,
    And with it my life-killing ſmart:
Fond Hope leaue me, my deare muſt goe,
    To meete more ioy, and I more woe.

Where ſtill of mirth inioy thy fill,
    One is enough to ſuffer ill:
My heart ſo well to ſorrow vs'd,
    can better be by new griefes bruis'd.

Thou whom the Heauens themſelues like made,
    ſhould neuer ſit in mourning ſhade:
No, I alone muſt mourne and end,
    Who haue a life in griefe to ſpend.

My ſwifteſt pace to wailings bent,
    Shewes ioy had but a ſhort time lent,
To bide in me where woes must dwell,
    And charme me with their cruell ſpell.

And yet when they their witchcrafts trye,
    They only make me wiſh to dye:
But ere my faith in loue they change,
    In horrid darkneſſe will I range.
Song ('O me the time is come')

O me the time is come to part,
    And with it my life-killing smart
    Fond hope leave me my dear must go
    To meet more joy, and I more woe;

Where still of mirth enjoy thy fill
    One is enough to suffer ill
    My heart so well to sorrow used
    Can better be by new griefs bruised;

Thou whom the heavens themselves like made
    Should never sit in mourning shade.
    No, I alone must mourn, and end
    Who have a life in grief to spend,

My swiftest pace to wailings bent
    Shows joy had but a short time lent
    To bide in me where woes must dwell,
    And charm me with their cruel spell.

And yet when they their witchcrafts try
    They only make me wish to die
    But ere my faith in love they change
    In horrid darkness will I range.



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