Flora wilt thou torment me,
And yet must I content me.
And shall I have no pleasure,
Of that thy beauty's treasure.
Lo then I die
And dying thus complain me,
Flora gentle and fair,
Alas hath slain me.
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Flora wilt thou torment me,
And yet must I content me.
And shall I have no pleasure,
Of that thy beauty's treasure.
Lo then I die
And dying thus complain me,
Flora gentle and fair,
Alas hath slain me.