Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
Rose-cheeked Laura, come; / Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's / Silent music, either other/ Sweetly gracing.
The Summer hath his joys, / And Winter his delights. / Though Love and all his pleasures are but toys, / They shorten tedious nights.
Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet; / Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly; to every day we live, a day we die.
The man of life upright,/ Whose guiltless heart is free/ From all dishonest deeds/ Or thought of vanity.
I care not for these ladies, That must be wooed and prayed; Give me kind Amaryllis, The wanton country maid. Nature art disdaineth; Her beauty is her own.
The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent, Whom hopes cannot delude, Nor sorrow discontent: That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder's violence.
Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee, That she in peace may wake and pity me.
Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee, When the ev'ning beams are set?
There is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy, Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.