A Book of old English love songs . Played to by the spheres Ill teachthee; Lets but thus dally, all the pleasuresThe moon beholds her man shall reachthee. Dwell in mine arms, aloft well hover, And see fields of armies fighting:Oh, part not from me! Ill discoverThere all but books of fancys writing. Be but my darling, Age to free theeFrom her curse shall fall a-dying;Call me thy empress, Time to see theeShall forget his art of flying. — Thomas Dekker.[«7] 0pora>tD. ACK, clouds, away, and welcome night we banish sorrow;Sweet air, blow soft, mount, larks,aloftTo give my Love good-morr
A Book of old English love songs . Played to by the spheres Ill teachthee; Lets but thus dally, all the pleasuresThe moon beholds her man shall reachthee. Dwell in mine arms, aloft well hover, And see fields of armies fighting:Oh, part not from me! Ill discoverThere all but books of fancys writing. Be but my darling, Age to free theeFrom her curse shall fall a-dying;Call me thy empress, Time to see theeShall forget his art of flying. — Thomas Dekker.[«7] 0pora>tD. ACK, clouds, away, and welcome night we banish sorrow;Sweet air, blow soft, mount, larks,aloftTo give my Love good-morrow!Wings from the wind to please hermindNotes from the lark Ill borrow;Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing,To give my Love good-morrow; To give my Love good-morrowNotes from them both Ill borrow. Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast,Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill, let music shrillGive my fair Love good-morrow![68] Blackbird and thrush in every bush,Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow! You pretty elves, amongst yourselvesSing my fair Love good-morrow;To give my Love good-morrowSing, birds, in every furrow! — Thomas Heywood.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1897
