Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasure prove
Of golden sands and christal brooks
With silken lines and silver hooks.
There will the river whispering run,
Warm'd by thine eyes more than the sun;
And there th' enamoured fish will stay
Begging themselves they may betray.
When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish which every channel hath
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee than thou him.
If thou to be so seen beest loath
By sun or moon, thou darkenest both;
And if my self have leave to see,
I heed not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset
With strangling snare or winding net.
Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks outwrest,
Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wandering eyes.
For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait:
That fish that is not catched thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.