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Thomas Bateson

Phyllis, farewell

Phyllis, farewell, I may no longer live;
Yet if I die, fair Phyllis, I forgive.
I live too long; come, gentle death and end
My endless torment, or my grief amend.

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Love is The Fire

Love is the fire that burns me,
The smokes are thoughts confused,
Which dim my soul, my soul,
And hath my sense abused.
Though fire to ashes turn me,
Yet doth the smoke more grieve me,
That dims my mind,
Whose light should still relieve me.

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Sister, Awake! Close not Your Eyes

Sister, awake! close not your eyes,
The day her light discloses;
And the bright morning doth arise
Out of her bed of roses.

See the clear sun, the world's bright eye,
In at our window peeping;
Lo, how he blusheth to espy
Us idle wenches sleeping!

Therefore awake, make haste I say,
And let us without staying
All in our gowns of green so gay
Into the park a maying.

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