In dew of roses

In dew of roses, steeping
Her lovely cheeks, Lycoris thus sat weeping
Ah Dorus false, that hast my heart bereft me
And now unkind hast left me:
Hear, alas hear, O hear me;
Ay me, cannot my beauty move thee?
Pity then me because I love thee
Ay me, thou scornst the more I pray thee
And this thou dost to slay me
But do, then do kill me and vaunt thee
Yet my ghost still shall haunt thee