Fourth Song.
Only joy, now here you are,
Fit to hear and ease my care ;
Let my whispering voice obtain
Sweet reward for sharpest pain ;
Take me to thee, and thee to me—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
Night hath closed all in her cloak,
Twinkling stars love-thoughts provoke,
Danger hence, good care doth keep,
Jealousy itself doth sleep ;
Take me to thee, and thee to me—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
Better place no wit can find,
Cupid's yoke to loose or bind ;
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 dear, let be.'
This small light the moon bestows
Serves thy beams but to disclose ;
So to raise my hap more high,
Fear not else, none can us spy ;
Take me to thee, and thee to me—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
That you heard was but a mouse,
Dumb sleep holdeth all the house ;
Yet asleep, methinks they say,
Young folks, take time while you may ;
Take me to thee, and thee to me—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
Niggard time threats, if we miss
This large offer of our bliss,
Long stay ere he grant the same ;
Sweet, then, while each thing doth frame,
Take me to thee, and thee to me—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
You fair mother is a-bed,
Candles out and curtains spread ;
She thinks you do letters write ;
Write, but let me first endite ;
Take me to thee, and thee to me—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
Sweet, alas, why strive you thus?
Concord better fitteth us ;
Leave to Mars the force of hands,
Your power in your beauty stands ;
Take me to thee, and thee to me—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
Woe to me, and do you swear
Me to hate? but I forbear ;
Cursëd be my destines all,
That brought me so high to fall ;
Soon with my death I will please thee—
' No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.'
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Sir Philip Sidney
