r,
Of love and pleasure speaks!
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
And mix our souls in mutual bliss.
Eyes were made for beauty's grace
Viewing, ruing, love's long pain;
Procured by beauty's rude disdain.

Come away![3] come, sweet Love!
The golden morning wastes
While the sun from his sphere
His fiery arrows casts:
Making all the shadows fly,
Playing, staying in the grove
To entertain the stealth of love.
Thither, sweet Love, let us hie,
Flying, dying in desire,
Wing'd with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.

Come away! come, sweet Love!
Do not in vain adorn
Beauty's grace, that should rise
Like to our naked morn!
Lilies on the river's side,
And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown,
Desire no beauties but their own:
Ornament is nurse of pride.
Pleasure measure[s] love's delight:
Haste then, sweet love, our wished flight!

[3] This stanza is not in the original, but is added in _England's
Helicon_.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

Come, O come, my life's delight!
Let me not in languor pine!
Love loves no delay; thy sight
The more enjoyed, the more divine!
O come, and take from me
The pain of being deprived of thee!

Thou all sweetness dost enclose,
Like a little world of bliss;
Beauty guards thy looks, the rose
In them pure and eternal is:
Come, then, and make thy flight
As swift to me as heavenly light!

From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.

Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers:
Here shelter is from sharpest showers,
Cool gales of wind breathe in these shades,
Danger none this place invades;
Here sit and note the chirping birds
Pleading my love in silent words.

Come, Phyllis, come, bright heaven's eye
Cannot upon thy beauty pry;
Glad Echo in distinguished voice
Naming thee will here rejoice;
Then come and hear her merry lays
Crowning thy name with lasting praise.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.

Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing,
Now sigh and groan!
Dead is my Love, my Hope, my Joy, my Spring;
Dead, dead, and gone!
O, She that was your Summer's Queen,
Your days' delight,
Is gone and will no more be seen;