A Glasse Chayne Broken.
Cease to proclayme the victory,
And trophy of your ether eye;
Vaunt me no more your captive there,
Enchayned in a single haire:
Thees weire glorious fetters too,
And every linke as strong as you;
And yet you see the chayne is broke,
And I in tyme may slip the yoake.
And trophy of your ether eye;
Vaunt me no more your captive there,
Enchayned in a single haire:
Thees weire glorious fetters too,
And every linke as strong as you;
And yet you see the chayne is broke,
And I in tyme may slip the yoake.