The Serenade

"Who is it that this dark night
Underneath my window plaineth?"
It is one, who from thy sight
Being (ah!) exiled, disdaineth
Every other vulgar light.

"Why, alas! and are you he?
Are not yet these fancies changed?"
Dear, when you find change in me,
Though from me you be estranged,
Let my change to ruin be.

"What if you new beauties see?
Will not they stir new affection?"—
I will think they pictures be
(Image-like of saint perfection)
Poorly counterfeiting thee.

"Peace! I think that some give ear,
Come, no more, lest I get anger."—
Bliss! I will my bliss forbear.
Fearing, sweet, you to endanger;
But my soul shall harbour there.

"Well, begone: begone, I say,
Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you."—
O! unjust is Fortune's sway,
Which can make me thus to leave you,
And from louts to run away!