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Come again! sweet love doth now invite |
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Thy graces that refrain |
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To do me due delight, |
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To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die, |
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With thee again in sweetest sympathy. |
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Come again! that I may cease to mourn |
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Through thy unkind disdain; |
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For now left and forlorn |
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I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die |
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In deadly pain and endless misery. |
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All the day the sun that lends me shine |
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By frowns do cause me pine |
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And feeds me with delay; |
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Her smiles, my springs that makes my joy to grow, |
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Her frowns the Winters of my woe. |
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All the night my sleeps are full of dreams, |
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My eyes are full of streams. |
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My heart takes no delight |
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To see the fruits and joys that some do find |
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And mark the storms are me assign'd. |
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Out alas, my faith is ever true, |
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Yet will she never rue |
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Nor yield me any grace; |
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Her eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made, |
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Whom tears nor truth may once invade. |
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Gentle Love, draw forth thy wounding dart, |
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Thou canst not pierce her heart; |
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For I, that do approve |
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By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts |
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Did tempt while she for triumph laughs. |
