Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl`d with dew? I will whisper to your ears,— The sweets of love are mixt with tears. Ask me why this flower does show So yellow-green, and sickly too? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break? I will answer,—these discover What fainting hopes are in a lover.SourceThe script ran 0.008 seconds.
The script ran 0.008 seconds.
