Three songs about love : to texts by early English poets

Go, lovely Rose! --
Tell her, that wastes her time and me,
  That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,
  And shuns to have her graces spied
That hadst thou sprung
  In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth
  Of beauty from the light retir'd;
Bid her come forth,
  Suffer herself to be [desir'd]1,
And not blush so to be admir'd.

Then die! -- that she
  The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:
  How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

Yet though thou fade,
From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise;
And teach the maid
That goodness time's rude hand defies;
That virtue lives when beauty dies.

My true Love hath my heart and I have his.
By just exchange, one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven:
My true Love hath my heart and I have his.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guide:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides:
My true Love hath my heart and I have his.
 ... 

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
  And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
  What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
  To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
  And wring his bosom — is to die.