Come again, sweet love doth now invite. Thy graces that
refrain, to do me due delight. To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to
die, with thee again in sweetest sympathy.
Come again,
that I may cease to mourn. Through thy unkind disdain, for now left and
forlorn. I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die, in deadly pain and
endless misery.
All the day, the sun that lends me shine, By
frowns do cause me pine, and feeds me with delay. Her smiles, my
springs, that makes, my joys, to grow, her frowns the winters of my
woe.
All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams, My eyes
are full of streams, my heart takes no delight. To see, the fruits, and
joys, that some, do find, and mark the storms are me
assigned.
Out alas, my faith is ever true. Yet will she
never rue, nor yield me any grace. Her eyes, of fire, her heart, of
flint, is made, whom tears nor truth may once invade.
Gentle
love, draw forth thy wounding dart. Thou canst not pierce her heart,
for I that do approve. By sighs, and tears, more hot, than are, thy
shafts, did tempt while she for triumph laughs.
