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Englands
H E L I C O N
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<1The Sheepheard to his chosen Nimph>1
ONELY joy, now heere you are,
Fit to heare and ease my care:
Let my whispring voyce obtaine,
Sweet reward for sharpest paine.
Take me to thee, and thee to me,
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Night hath clos'd all in her cloke,
Twinkling starres Love-thoughts provoke,
Daunger hence good care dooth keepe,
Jealousie it selfe dooth sleepe.
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Better place no wit can finde,
<1Cupids>1 yoake to loose or binde,
These sweet flowers on fine bed too,
Us in their best language woo,
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
1
This small light the Moone bestowes,
Serves thy beames but to enclose,
So to raise my hap more hie,
Feare not else, none can us spie.
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, m . . .
