1 Come, O come my lifes delight ;
Let me not in languor pine :
Loue loues no delay : thy sight,
The more enioy'd, the more diuine.
O come and take from mee
The paine of being depriu'd of thee.
2 Thou all sweetnesse dost enclose,
Like a little world of blisse :
Beauty guards thy lookes, the Rose
In them pure and eternall is.
Come then and make thy flight
As swift to me as heau'nly light.
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www.harald-lillmeyer.kulturserver.de