Song

Sweetest love, I do not goe,

For wearinesse of thee,

Nor in hope the world can show

A fitter Love for mee;

But since that I　

Must dye at last, 'tis best,

To use my selfe in jest

Thus by fain'd deaths to dye;

Yesternight the Sunne went hence,

And yet is here to day,　

He hath no desire nor sense,

Nor halfe so short a way:

Then feare not mee,

But beleeve that I shall make

Speedier journeyes, since I take　

More wings and spurres then hee.

O how feeble is mans power,

That if good fortune fall,

Cannot adde another houre,

Nor a lost houre recall!　

But come bad chance,

And wee joyne to'it our strength,

And wee teach it art and length,

It selfe o'r us to'advance.

When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not winde,　

But sigh'st my soule away,

When thou weep'st, unkindly kinde,

My lifes blood doth decay.

It cannot bee

That thou lov'st mee, as thou say'st,　

If in thine my life thou waste,

That is the best of mee.

Let not thy divining heart

Forethinke me any ill,

Destiny may take thy part,　

And may thy feares fulfill;

But thinke that wee

Are but turn'd aside to sleepe;

They who one another keepe

Alive, ne'r parted bee.