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Thomas Campion

The Fovrth Booke of Ayres


XXIII. Your fayre lookes

       1 Your faire lookes vrge my desire,
          Calme it sweet with loue.
       Stay, ˘ why will you retire ?
          Can you churlish proue ?
       If Loue may perswade,
          Loues pleasures deare deny not :
       Here is a groue secur'd with shade,
          O then be wise and flye not.

       2 Harke the Birds delighted sing,
          Yet our pleasure sleepes :
       Wealth to none can profit bring,
          Which the miser keepes :
       O come while we may,
          Let's chayne Loue with embraces,
       Wee haue not all times time to stay,
          Nor safety in all places.

       3 What ill finde you now in this ?
          Or who can complaine ?
       There is nothing done amisse (???)
          That breedes no man payne.
       'Tis now flowry May ,
          But eu'n in cold December,
       When all these leaues are blowne away
          This place shall I remember.



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