Who is it that this darke night
Vnderneath my window playneth?
It is one who from thy sight
Being, ah exil’d, disdayneth
Euery other vulgar light.
Why, alas, and are you he?
Be not yet those fancies changed?
Deare, when you find change in me,
Though from me you be estranged,
Let my chaunge to ruin be.
Well, in absence this will dy;
Leaue to see, and leaue to wonder.
Absence sure will helpe, if I
Can learne how my selfe to sunder
From what in my hart doth ly.
But time will these thoughts remoue;
Time doth work what no man knoweth.
Time doth as the subiect proue;
With time still the affection groweth
In the faithful turtle-doue.
What if we new beauties see,
Will they not stir new affection?
I will thinke they pictures be,
(Image-like, of saints perfection)
Poorely counterfeting thee.
But your reasons purest light
Bids you leaue such minds to nourish.
Deere, do reason no such spite;
Neuer doth thy beauty florish
More then in my reasons sight.
But the wrongs Loue beares will make
Loue at length leaue vndertaking.
No, the more fooles it doth shake,
In a ground of so firme making
Deeper still they driue the stake.
Peace, I thinke that some giue eare;
Come no more, least I get anger.
Blisse, I will my blisse forbeare;
Fearing, sweete, you to endanger;
But my soule shall harbour there.
Well, be gone; be gone, I say,
Lest that Argus eyes perceiue you.
O vniust is Fortunes sway,
Which can make me thus to leaue you,
And from lowts to run away.