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186
To his Mistris confined.
Song.
O thinke
not Phœbe 'cause a cloud,
Doth now thy silver brightnes shrowd,
My wandring eye
Can stoope to common beauties of the Skye.
Rather be kind, and this Ecclips.
Shall neither binder eye nor lips,
For wee shall meete,
Within our hearts and kisse, and none shall see't.
Doth now thy silver brightnes shrowd,
My wandring eye
Can stoope to common beauties of the Skye.
Rather be kind, and this Ecclips.
Shall neither binder eye nor lips,
For wee shall meete,
Within our hearts and kisse, and none shall see't.
Nor canst thou in thy prison be,
Without some living signe of me;
When thou dost spye,
A Sun beame peepe into the roome, 'tis J.
For I am bid within a flame,
And thus into thy chamber came,
To let thee see,
In what a mart tyredome I burne for thee.
Without some living signe of me;
When thou dost spye,
A Sun beame peepe into the roome, 'tis J.
For I am bid within a flame,
And thus into thy chamber came,
To let thee see,
In what a mart tyredome I burne for thee.
When thou dost touch thy Lute thou mayest,
Thinke on my heart, on which thou plaiest;
When each sad tone,
Vpon the strings doth shew my deeper groane.
When thou dost please, they shall rebound,
With nimble ayres strucke to the sound,
Of thy owne voyce;
O thinke how much I tremble and reioyce.
Thinke on my heart, on which thou plaiest;
187
Vpon the strings doth shew my deeper groane.
When thou dost please, they shall rebound,
With nimble ayres strucke to the sound,
Of thy owne voyce;
O thinke how much I tremble and reioyce.
There's no sad picture that doth dwell,
Vpon thy Arras wall, but well
Resembles me,
No matter though our age doe not agree.
Love can make old, as well as time,
And he that doth but twenty clime,
If he dare proue,
As true as I, shewes fourescore yeares in love.
Vpon thy Arras wall, but well
Resembles me,
No matter though our age doe not agree.
Love can make old, as well as time,
And he that doth but twenty clime,
If he dare proue,
As true as I, shewes fourescore yeares in love.
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