Peter Warlock
2 voix · Voice, Piano
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I held Love’s head while it did ache; But so it chanced to be; The cruel pain did his forsake, And forthwith came to me. Ay me! how shall my grief be stilled? Or where else shall we find One like to me, who must be killed For being tootoo kind? Thou gav’st me leave to kiss; Thou gav’st me leave to woo; Thou mad’st me think by this, And that, thou lov’dst me too. But I shall ne’er for- get, How for to make thee merry; Thou mad’st me chop, but yet, Another snapt the cherry.
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