Thou art but young, thou say’€™st, And love’€™s delight thou weigh’€™… Oh! take time while thou may’€™st, Lest, when thou would’€™st, thou m… If love shall then assail thee,

I fall, I fall, O stay me, Dear love, with joys you slay me, Of life your lips deprive me, Sweet, let your lips revive me, O whither are you hasting,

Ye restless thoughts, that harbour… Cease your assaults and let my hea… And let my tongue have leave to te… That she may pity, though not gran… Pity would help, alas, what love h…

Fly, Love, aloft to heav’n and lo… Then sweetly, sweetly, sweetly her… That I from my Calisto best belov… As you and she set down be never m… And, Love, to Carimel see you com…

When Cloris heard of her Amyntas… She grieved then for her unkind de… Oft sighing sore, and with a heart… I die, I die, I die, she thus com… Whom, when Amyntas spied,

O wretched man! Why lov’€™st thou… Which nought enjoys but cares and… What pleasure here, but breeds a w… What hour’€™s ease, that anguish d… No earthly joys, but have their di…

Lady, your words do spite me, Yet your sweet lips, so soft, kiss… Your deeds my heart surcharg’d wit… Your taunts my life destroying. Since both have force to spill me,

Hard destinies are love and beauty… Fair Daphne so disdainful! Cupid, thy shafts are too unjustly… Fond love, thy wounds are painful: But sith my lovely jewel

As fair as morn, as fresh as May, a pretty grace in saying nay, Smil’st thou sweetheart? then sing and say, Ta na na no, But O! that love enchanting eye,

Happy streams, whose trembling fal… With still murmur softly gliding, Happy birds, whose chirping call, With sweet melody delighting, Hath mov’d her flinty and relentle…

Yet, sweet, take heed, all sweets… Sting not her soft lips, Oh bewar… For if one flaming dart come from… Was never dart so sharp, ah, then…

Where most my thoughts, there leas… Where least I come, there most my… Where most I love, I never show m… From what my mind doth hold, my bo… I careless seem, where most my car…

There is a jewel, which no Indian… Can buy, no chymic art can counter… It makes men rich in greatest pove… Makes water wine; turns wooden cup… The homely whistle, to sweet music…

Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face; Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart: For those may fail or turn to ill,

Alas! What a wretched life is thi… Nay what a death! Where tyrant Lo… My flow’€™ring days are in their p… All my proud hope quite fall’€™n,… My joys each after other, in haste…