To Electra.

TIs Ev'ning, my Sweet,
And dark; let us meet;
Long time w'ave here been a toying:
And never, as yet,
That season co'd get,
Wherein t'ave had an enjoying.

For pitty or shame,
Then let not Love's flame,
Be ever and ever a spending;
Since now to the Port
The path is but short;
And yet our way has no ending.

Time flyes away fast;
Our houres doe waste:
The while we never remember,
How soone our life, here,
Growes old with the yeere,
That dyes with the next December.