Shall I come, sweet love, to thee, when the evening beams are set?
Shall I not excluded be? Will you find no feigned let?
Let me not, for pity, more tell the long hours at your door.
Who can tell what thief or foe in the covert of the night
For his prey will work my woe, or through wicked foul despite?
So may i die unredressed, ere my long love be possessed.
But to let such dangers pass, which lover’s thoughts disdain,
‘Tis enough in such a place to attend love’s joys in vain.
Do not mock me in thy bed, while these cold nights freeze me dead.

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