Should then my love aspiring, Forbidden joys desiring, So far exceed the duty That Virtue owes to Beauty? No! Love seek not thy bliss Beyond a simple kiss! For such deceits are harmless Yet kiss a thousand fold; For kisses may be bold When lovely sleep is armless. * * * * * Come away! come, sweet love! The golden morning breaks; All the earth, all the air, Of love and pleasure speaks! Teach thine arms then to embrace, And sweet rosy lips to kiss, And mix our souls in mutual bliss! Eyes were made for beauty's grace Viewing, ruing, love's long pains; Procured by beauty's rude disdain. Come away! come, sweet love! Do not in vain adorn Beauty's grace, that should rise Like to the naked morn! Lilies on the river's side, And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown, Desire no beauties but their own: Ornament is Nurse of Pride. Pleasure measure, love's delight, Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight! * * * * * Rest awhile, you cruel cares! Be not more severe than love! Beauty kills and beauty spares, And sweet smiles, sad sighs remove. LAURA, fair Queen of my delight! Come grant me love, in love's despite! And if I ever fail to honour thee, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as dark as hell to me! If I speak! My words want weight. Am I mute! My heart doth break. If I sigh! She fears deceit. Sorrow then for me, must speak! Cruel! unkind! with favour view The wound that first was made by you! And if my torments feignèd be, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as dark as hell to me! Never hour of pleasing rest, Shall revive my dying ghost, Till my soul hath repossesst The sweet hope, which love hath lost: Laura! redeem the soul that dies By fury of thy murdering eyes! And if it proves unkind to thee, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as dark as hell to me! * * * * * Sleep wayward thoughts, and rest you with my Love! Let not my Love, be with my love diseased! Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move! But pine you with my longings long displeased: Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake, So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake. But O, the fury of my restless fear! The hidden anguish of my flesh desires! The glories and the beauties that appear Between her brows, near CUPID'S closèd fires! Thus while she sleeps, moves sighing for her sake, So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.