|
Song |
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Come liue with mee and bee my loue [301] |
And wee will some new pleasures proue |
of golden sands and christall brookes |
with silken lines and siluer hookes |
|
There will the riuer whispering runne |
Warmd by thine eyes more then the Sunne |
And then th'enamourd fish will stay |
Begging themselues they may betray |
|
If thou to bee so seene beest lothe |
By sunne or moone, thou darkenst both |
And if my selfe haue leaue to see |
I neede not theyr light hauing thee |
|
Let others freeze with Angling reedes |
And cutt theyr leggs with shells and weedes |
Or treacherously poore fish besett |
With strangling snare or windowy nett |
|
Let course bold hands from slimy nest |
The bedded fish in bunkes outwrest |
Or curious Traytors sleaue-silke flies |
Bewitch poore fishes wandring eyes |
|
ffor thee, thou needst no such deceit |
ffor thou thy selfe art thine owne bayt |
That fish that is not catchd thereby |
Alas is wiser farr then I |
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If thou wilt swim in that liue bath |
Each fish wch. every channell hath |
Will amorously vnto thee swim |
Gladder to catch thee then thou him
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[CW: I haue] |