Classic Poem

Your faire lookes urge my desire:
Calme it, sweet, with love.
Stay, o why will you retire?
Can you churlish prove?
If Love may perswade,
Loves pleasures, deare, deny not:
Here is a grove secur'd with shade;
O then be wise, and flye not.

Harke, the Birds delighted sing,
Yet our pleasure sleepes.
Wealth to none can profit bring,
Which the miser keepes:
O come, while we may,
Let's chayne Love with embraces;
Wee have not all times time to stay,
Nor safety in all places.

What ill finde you now in this?
Or who can complaine?
There is nothing done amisse,
That breedes no man payne.
'Tis now flowryMay ,
But ev'n in coldDecember ,
When all these leaves are blowne away,
This place shall I remember.