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Title: The Crier
Author: Michael Drayton [
More Titles by Drayton]
Good Folke, for Gold or Hire,
But help me to a Crier;
For my poor Heart is run astray
After two Eyes, that passe'd this way.
O yes, O yes, O yes,
If there be any Man,
In Town or Country, can
Bring me my Heart again,
I'll please him for his pain;
And by these Marks I will you show,
That onely I this Heart doe owe.
It is a wounded Heart,
Wherein yet sticks the Dart,
Every piece sore hurt throughout it,
Faith, and Troth, writ round about it:
It was a tame Heart, and a dear,
And never used to roam;
But having got this Haunt, I fear
'Twill hardly stay at home.
For Gods sake, walking by the way,
If you my Heart do see,
Either impound it for a Stray,
Or send it back to me.
[The end]
Michael Drayton's poem: Crier
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