|
| As is 'twixt Aire and Angels puritie, |
| 'Twixt womens love, and mens will ever bee. |
|
| Breake of day |
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| 'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it bee? |
| O wilt thou therefore rise from me? |
| Why should we rise, because 'tis light? |
| Did we lie downe, because 'twas night? |
| Love which in spight of darknesse brought us hither, |
| Should in spight of light keepe us together. |
|
| Light hath no tongue, but is all eye; |
| If it could speake as well as spie, |
| This were the worst, that it could say, |
| That being well, I faine would stay, |
| And that I lov'd my heart and honour so, |
| That I would not from him, that had them, goe. |
|
| Must businesse thee from hence remove? |
| Oh, that's the worst disease of love, |
| The poore, the foule, the false love can |
| Admit, but not the busied man. |
| He which hath businesse, and makes love, doth doe |
| Such wrong, as when a married man should wooe.
|
[CW: The] |