My saint I keep to me, and JOAN herself is free,
JOAN fair and true!
She that doth only move passions of love with LOVE.
FORTUNE! adieu!
FINIS.
E. O. [i.e. EDWARD DE VERE, Earl of OXFORD.]
[The author of the following final poem in this Collection of NEWMAN'S first Quarto of 1591 is not indicated.]
If floods of tears could cleanse my follies past
And smokes of sighs might sacrifice for sin;
If groaning cries might salve my fault at last;
Or endless moan for error, pardon win:
Then would I cry, weep, sigh, and ever moan
Mine error, fault, sins, follies past and gone.
I see my hopes must wither in their bud,
I see my favours are no lasting flowers,
I see that words will breathe no better good
Than loss of time, and lightning but at hours.
Then when I see, then this I say therefore,
That favours, hopes and words can blind no more.
FINIS.
