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 ome away, come
sweet loue,
The goulden morning breakes,
All the earth, all the ayre
Of loue and pleasure speakes:
Teach thine armes then to embrace,
And sweet rosie lips to kisse,
And mixe our soules in mutual blisse.
Eies were made for beauties grace,
Vewing, ruing Loue long pains,
Procurd by beauties rude disdaine.
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ome awaie, come
sweet loue,
The goulden morning wasts,
While the son from his sphere
His fierie arrows casts:
Making all the shadowes flie,
Playing, staying in the groue,
To entertaine the stealth of loue,
Thither sweet loue let vs hie,
Flying, dying, in desire,
Wingd with sweet hopes and heau'nly
fire.
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ome away, come
sweet loue,
Doe not in vaine adorne
Beauties grace, that should rise,
Like to the naked morne:
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Lillies on the riuers side,
And faire Cyprian flowers new blowne,
Desire no beauties but their owne,
Ornament is nurce of pride,
Pleasure, measure, loues delight,
Hast then sweet loue our wished
flight.
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John Dowland, 1597
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