Прочитаний :  131
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Shall I come, sweet Loue, to thee
Shall I come, sweet Loue, to thee
When the eu'ning beames are set?
Shall I not excluded be?
Will you finde no fained lett?
Let me not, for pitty, more,
Tell the long houres at your dore.
Who can tell what theefe or foe,
In the couert of the night,
For his prey will worke my woe,
Or through wicked foule despight:
So may I dye vnredrest,
Ere my long loue be possest.
But to let such dangers passe,
Which a louers thoughts disdaine,
'Tis enough in such a place
To attend loues ioyes in vaine.
Doe not mocke me in thy bed,
While these cold nights freeze me dead.
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