Good Folke, For Gold Or Hyre, But Helpe Me To A Cryer; For My Poore Heart Is Runne Astray After Two Eyes, That Pass'D This Way. O Yes, O Yes, O Yes, If There Be Any Man, In Towne Or Countrey, Can Bring Me My Heart Againe, Ile Please Him For His Paine; And By These Marks I Will You Show, That Onely I This Heart Doe Owe. It Is A Wounded Heart, Wherein Yet Sticks The Dart, Eu'Ry Piece Sore Hurt Throughout It, Faith, And Troth, Writ Round About It: It Was A Tame Heart, And A Deare, And Neuer Vs'D To Roame; But Hauing Got This Haunt, I Feare 'Twill Hardly Stay At Home. For Gods Sake, Walking By The Way, If You My Heart Doe See, Either Impound It For A Stray, Or Send It Backe To Me.