Come away, arm'd with loves delights
XVII.
Come away, arm'd with loves delights,
Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee:
When loves longing fights,
They must the sticklers be.
Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is wel-nye spent,
And pleasure, being too much deferr'd, looseth her best content.
Is shee come? O, how neare is shee?
How farre yet from this friendly place?
How many steps from me?
When shall I her imbrace?
These armes Ile spred, which onely at her sight shall close,
Attending as the starry flowre that the Suns noone-tide knowes.
Come away, arm'd with loves delights,
Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee:
When loves longing fights,
They must the sticklers be.
Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is wel-nye spent,
And pleasure, being too much deferr'd, looseth her best content.
Is shee come? O, how neare is shee?
How farre yet from this friendly place?
How many steps from me?
When shall I her imbrace?
These armes Ile spred, which onely at her sight shall close,
Attending as the starry flowre that the Suns noone-tide knowes.
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