John Mundy - Penelope - текст песни (слова)

Penelope, that longèd for the sight
 Of her Ulysses, wand'ring all too long,
 Felt never joy, wherein she took delight, 
 Although she liv'd in greatest joys among.
 So I, poor wretch, possessing that I crave,
 Both live and lack, by wrong of thee I have:
 Then blame me not, although to heavens I cry,
 And pray the gods that shortly I might die.