John Dowland

Come again

                                 Come again:
                        Sweet love doth now invite,
                           Thy graces that refrain,
                           To do me due delight,
                 To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die,
                  With thee again in sweetest sympathy.

                                 Come again
                           That I may cease to mourn,
                           Through thy unkind disdain:
                      For now left and forlorn
                 I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die,
                 In deadly pain and endless misery.

                                 All the day 
                           The sun that lends me shine,
                           By frowns doth cause me pine, 
                              And feeds me with delay,
Her smiles, my springs that makes my joy to grow, 
               Her frowns the Winters of my woe:

                                All the night 
                           My sleeps are full of dreams,
                           My eyes are full of streams.
                             My heart takes no delight,
To see the fruits and joys that some do find
     And mark the storms are me assign'd

                                Out alas, 
                           My faith is ever true,
                           Yet will she never rue,
                             Nor yield me any grace:
Her Eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made,
    Whom tears nor truth may once invade.

                                 Gentle Love, 
                           Draw forth thy wounding dart,
                           Thou canst not pierce her heart,
                                 For I, that do approve,
By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts,
   Do tempt while she for triumphs laughs.