Englands Helicon Casta placent superis, pura cum veste venite, et manibus puris sumite fontis aquam.

ENGLANDS HELICON.

¶ The Sheepheard to his chosen Nimph.

ONely ioy, now heere you are, Fit to heare and ease my care: Let my whispring voyce obtaine, Sweet reward for sharpest paine. Take me to thee, and thee to me, No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Night hath clos'd all in her cloke, Twinkling starres Loue-thoughts prouoke, Daunger hence good care dooth keepe Iealousie it selfe dooth sleepe. Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Better place no wit can finde, Cupids yoake to loose or binde, These sweet flowers on fine bed too, Vs in their best language woo, Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

This small light the Moone bestowes, Serues thy beames but to enclose, So to raise my hap more hie, Feare not else, none can vs spie. Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deare, let be.

That you heard was but a Mouse, Dumbe sleepe holdeth all the house, Yet a-sleepe me thinks they say, Young folkes, take time while you may. Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deare, let be.

Niggard Time threats, if we misse This large offer of our blisle, Long stay, ere he graunt the same, (Sweet then) while each thing dooth frame, Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Your faire Mother is a bed, Candles out, and Curtaines spred, She thinks you doo Letters write, Write, but let me first indite. Take me to thee, and thee to me, No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Sweete (alas) why saine you thus? Concord better fitteth vs. Leaue 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 Deare, let be.

Woe to me, and you doo sweare Me to hate, but I forbeare, Cursed be my destenies all, That brought me to so high a fall. Soone with my death I will please thee: No, no, no, no, my Deare, let be.

S. Phil. Sidney.

FINIS.