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An
An
Answere to ri Tichborne
Answere to M[r] Tichborne
who
who
was executed in thBabingtõ
was executed wth Babington


Thy flower of youth is with a north wind blessed
Thy flower of youth is with a north wind blasted
thy feast of Joye, is an Idea found
thy feast of foye, is an Idea found
Thy corne is shed, thy untimely harvest wasted
Thy corne is shed, thy untimely harvest wasted
thy good in ill, thy hope in hurt as wasted
thy good in ill, thy hope in hurt as wasted
Darke was thy day & shadow was thy sun
Darke was thy daye & shadow was thy sun
And by such lights thy life untymely spun
And by such lights, thy life untymely spun


Thy tals was nought thy oratory told
Thy tale was nought thy oratory told
thy fruite is rotten & thy leaves are gone
thy fruite is rotten & thy leaves are gone
Thy selfe wert young in yeares in tyme growne
Thy selfe wert young in yeares in tyme growne
the world accoumpts thee not worth thinking on old
the world accoumpts thee not worth thinking on | old
Thy thred's not cutt nor spun, but broken
Thy thred's not cutt nor spun, but broken
Soe let thy heart, though yet it be [butone?]
Soe let thy heart, though yet it be but open


Thou soughts thy death and foundst it in desert
Thou soughts thy death and foundst it in desert
thou lookest for life,yet [lesedly foet?] it fade
thou lookest for life, yet leudly foet [sic?: "felt" in printed edition] it fade
Thou trodst on Earth, & now in Earth thou art
Thou trodst on Earth, & now in Earth thou art
and men may wish that yu hadst nere [time?] horne
and men may wish that yu hadst nere bine borne
Thy glorye and thy glase are tymelels ruine
Thy glorye and thy glase are tymeless ruine
[wch lo?] unhappye man : by thy selfe was dorne
wch (O unhappye man) by thy selfe was donne
Finis
Finis

Latest revision as of 14:53, 31 October 2019

An Answere to M[r] Tichborne who was executed wth Babington

Thy flower of youth is with a north wind blasted thy feast of foye, is an Idea found Thy corne is shed, thy untimely harvest wasted thy good in ill, thy hope in hurt as wasted Darke was thy daye & shadow was thy sun And by such lights, thy life untymely spun

Thy tale was nought thy oratory told thy fruite is rotten & thy leaves are gone Thy selfe wert young in yeares in tyme growne the world accoumpts thee not worth thinking on | old Thy thred's not cutt nor spun, but broken Soe let thy heart, though yet it be but open

Thou soughts thy death and foundst it in desert thou lookest for life, yet leudly foet [sic?: "felt" in printed edition] it fade Thou trodst on Earth, & now in Earth thou art and men may wish that yu hadst nere bine borne Thy glorye and thy glase are tymeless ruine wch (O unhappye man) by thy selfe was donne Finis