My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish'd air, By love are driv'n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.
His face is fair as heav'n, When springing buds unfold; O why to him was't giv'n, Whose heart is wintry cold? His breast is love's all worship'd tomb, Where all love's pilgrims come.
Bring me an axe and spade, Bring me a winding sheet; When I my grave have made, Let winds and tempests beat: Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!
I asked a thief to steal me a peach: He turn'd up his eyes. I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down: Holy and meek she cries.
As soon as I went an angel came: He wink'd at the thief And smil'd at the dame, And without one word spoke Had a peach from the tree, And 'twixt earnest and joke Enjoy'd the Lady.
The wild winds weep, And the night is a-cold; Come hither, Sleep, And my griefs infold: But lo! the morning peeps Over the eastern steeps, And the rustling birds of dawn The earth do scorn.
Lo! to the vault Of paved heaven, With sorrow fraught My notes are driven: They strike the ear of night, Make weep the eyes of day; They make mad the roaring winds, And with tempests play.
Like a fiend in a cloud With howling woe, After night I do croud, And with night will go; I turn my back to the east, From whence comforts have increas'd; For light doth seize my brain With frantic pain.
When the voices of the children are heard on the green And whisp'rings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale.
Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Your spring & your day are wasted in play, And your winter and night in disguise.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 