IV
The day draweth nearer,
And morrow ends our meeting,
Ere they take thee sleeping
Be up—away, my treasure!
Soft, leave her breasts all unheeded,
Far hence though the master still remaineth!
For soon uptil our earth regaineth
The sun all embraces dividing.
N’er grew pleasure all unimpeded,
N’er was delight lest passion won,
And to the wise man the fit occasion
Has not yet refused a full measure:
Be up—away, my treasure!
If that my love thy bosom inflameth
With honest purpose and just intention,
To free me from my soul’s contention
Give over joys the day shameth;
Who thee lameth he also me lameth,
And my good grace builds all in thy good grace;
Be up—away! Fear leaveth place,
That thou art here, no more unto pleasure,
Be up—away, my treasure!
Although thou with a sleep art wresting,
’Tis rightful thou bringst it close,
That of the favour one meeting shows
An hundred may hence be attesting.
’Tis fitting too thou shouldst be mindful
That the ease which we lose now, in kind, full
Many a promise holds for our leisure;
Ere they take thee sleeping;
Be up—away, my treasure!