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Thomas Campion

The Third Booke of Ayres


XXVI. Silly boy, 'tis full Moone yet

       1  Silly boy, 'tis full Moone yet, Thy night and day shines clearely;
       Had thy youth but wit to feare, thou couldst not loue dearely :
       Shortly wilt thou mourne when all thy pleasures are bereaued ;
       Little knowes he how to loue that neuer was deceiued.

       2  This is thy first mayden flame that triumphes yet vnstayned ;
       All is artelesse now you speake, not one word yet is fayned ;
       All is heau'n that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed :
       But no Spring can want his Fall, each Troylus hath his Cresseid.

       3  Thy well-order'd lockes ere long shall rudely hang neglected ;
       And thy liuely pleasant cheate, reade griefe on earth deiected :
       Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint that made thy heart so holy.
       And with sighes confeste, in loue, that too much faith is folly.

       4  Yet be iust and constant still, Loue may beget a wonder ;
       Not vnlike a Summers frost, er Winters fatall thunder :
       Hee that holds his Sweet-hart true vnto his day of dying,
       Liues of all that euer breath'd most worthy the enuying.



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