First Book of Songs or Airs

Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers
Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay:
The climbing wood-bine, clipping all these bowers,
Clips thee likewise for fear thou pass away;
Fortune our friend, our foe will not gainsay.
Stay but awhile, Phœbe no tell-tale is;
She her Endymion, I’ll my Phœbe kiss.

Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet;
Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings!
Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet
Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs,
And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings.
Stay but awhile, Phœbe no tell-tale is;
She her Endymion, I’ll my Phœbe kiss.

See how the helitrope, herb of the sun,
Though he himself long since be gone to bed,
Is not of force thine eye’s bright beams to shun,
But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread,
And on my knee invites thee rest thy head.
Stay but awhile, Phœbe no tell-tale is;
She her Endymion, I’ll my Phœbe kiss.