Classic Poem

Come , lovely boy unto my court,
And leave these uncouth woods, and all,
That feed thy fancy with love's gall,
But keep away the honey and the sport. Chorus of Graces:

Come unto me,
And with variety
Thou shalt be fed; which Nature loves, and I.

There is no music in a voice
That is but one, and still the same.
Inconstancy is but a name
To fright poor lovers from a better choice. Chorus:

Come then to me, etc.

Orpheus that on Eurydice
Spent all his love, on others scorn,
Now on the banks of Hebrus torn
Finds the reward of foolish constancy. Chorus:

Come then to me, etc.

And sigh no more for one love lost,
I have a thousand Cupids here
Shall recompense with better cheer
Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost. Chorus:

Come then to me, etc.