Come, O come, my lifes delight

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.

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.