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Thomas Campion

The second Booke of Ayres



1   Come you pretty false-ey'd wanton,
    Leaue your crafty smiling :
Thinke you to escape me now,
    With slipp'ry words beguiling ?
No, you mockt me th'other day,
    When you got loose you fled away :
But since I haue caught you now,
    Ile clip your wings for flying :
Smothering kisses fast Ile heape,
    And keepe you so from crying.

2   Sooner may you count the starres
    And number hayle downe pourings
Tell the Osiers of the Temmes,
    Or Goodwins Sands deuouting :
Then the thicke-showr'd kisses here,
    Which now thy tyred lips must beare;
Such a haruest neuer was,
    So rich and full of pleasure;
But 'tis spent as soone as reapt,
    So trustlesse is loues treasure.

3   Would it were dumb midnight now,
    When all the world lyes sleeping :
Would this place some Desert were,
    Which no man hath in keeping.
My desires should then be safe,
    And when you cry'd then would I laugh,
But if ought might breed offence,
    Loue onely should be blamed :
I would liue your servant still,
    And you my Saint vnnamed.


Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer