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As is 'twixt Aire and Angels puritie,
'Twixt womens love, and mens will ever bee.
Breake of day
'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]