Fourth Song
Onely Ioy, now here you are,
Fit to heare and ease my care,
Let my whispering voyce obtaine
Sweete reward for sharpest paine; Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.
Night hath closde all in her cloke,
Twinkling starres loue-thoughts prouoke,
Danger hence, good care doth keepe, Iealouzie hemselfe doth sleepe; Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.
Better place no wit can finde,
Cupids knot to loose or binde;
These sweet flowers our fine bed too, Vs in their best language woo:
Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.
This small light the moone bestowes
Serues thy beames but to disclose;
So to raise my hap more hie, Feare not else, none vs can spie;
Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. That you heard was but a mouse, Dumbe Sleepe holdeth all the house: Yet asleepe, me thinkes they say,
Yong fooles take time while you may; Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.
Niggard time threates, if we misse This large offer of our blisse, Long stay, ere he graunt the same: Sweet, then, while ech thing doth frame, Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.
Your faire Mother is abed,
Candles out and curtaines spred;
She thinkes you do letters write; Write, but first let me endite; Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.
Sweete, alas, why striue you thus? Concord better fitteth vs;
Leaue to Mars the force of hands,
Your power in your beautie stands; Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. Wo to mee, and do you sweare Me to hate, but I forbeare?
Cursed be my destines all, That brought me so high to fall;
Soone with my death I will please thee:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.