Astrophel and Stella: 95

Yet sighes, deere sighs, indeede true friends you are,That do not leaue your lest friend at the wurst,But as you with my breast I oft haue nurst,So gratefull now you waite vpon my care.Faint coward joy no longer tarry dare,Seeing hope yeeld when this wo strake him furst:Delight protests he is not for the accurst,Though oft himselfe my mate in arme he sware.Nay sorrow comes with such maine rage, that heKils his owne children, teares finding that theyBy loue were made apt to consort with me.Only true sighs, you do not go away,Thanke may you haue for such a thankfull part,Thanke-worthiest yet when you shall breake my hart.