O Mistres mine where are you roming?O stay and heare, your true loues coming, That can sing both high and low.Trip no further prettie sweeting.Iourneys end in louers meeting, Euery wise mans sonne doth know.
What is loue, tis not heereafter,Present mirth, hath present laughter: What's to come, is still vnsure.In delay there lies no plentie,Then come kisse me sweet and twentie: Youths a stuffe will not endure.
