Poem by Abraham Cowley

Thisbe's Song

Come, love, why stay'st thou? The night
Will vanish ere wee taste delight.
The moone obscures her selfe from sight,
Thou absent, whose eyes give her light.

Come quickly deare, be briefe as time,
Or we by morne shall be o'retane,
Love's Joy's thing owne as well as mine,
Spend not therefore, time in vaine. 

1. The Thief
2. The Epicure
3. Not Fair
4. On the Death of Sir Henry Wootton
5. The Request

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