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THE FIRST BOOKE OF
SONGS OR AYRES

J o h n  D o w l a n d

1597 [1613]

 

XXI. Away with these self-louing lads.


               1
     Away with these selfe louing lads,
     Whom Cupids arrow neuer glads.
     Away poore soules that sigh and weep,
     In loue of them that lie and sleepe.
           For Cupid is a medow God,
           And forceth none to kisse the rod.

               2
     God Cupids shaft, like destinie,
     Doth eyther good or ill decree :
     Desert is borne out of his bow,
     Reward vpon his foot doth goe.
           What fools are they that haue not known
           That loue likes no lawes but his owne ?

               3
     My songs they be of Cynthias praise,
     I weare her rings on holy dayes,
     On euery tree I write her name,
     And euery day I reade the same :
           Where honor, Cupids riuall is,
           There miracles are seene of his.

               4
     If Cynthia craue her ring of mee,
     I blot her name out of the tree.
     If doubt do darken things held deare,
     Then welfare nothing once a yeare :
           For many run, but one must win,
           Fools onely hedge the Cuckoe in.

               5
     The worth that worthinesse should moue
     Is loue, which is the bowe of loue;
     And loue as well the Foster can,
     As can the mighty Nobleman :
           Sweet Saint, tis true you worthy be,
           Yet without loue nought worth to me.
    

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