CARE AWAY

Care, Care goe back, thou art no mate for me,

thy thornie thoughts, the hart to death doth

wound:

Thou makest the faire, see me like a blasted tree,

by thee greene yéeres with hoarie haires are grownd.

Which makes me sing to solace mine annoy:

Care, Care, adiewe, my hart doth hop for ioy.

Care, Care, adiew, thou riuall of delight,

returne into che Caue of deepe despaire:

Thou art no Guest, to harbour neere my spright,

whose poysoned sightes infect the very Aire.

Wherefore I sing to solace mine annoy:

Care, Care adiew, my hart doth hop for ioy.

Care, Care, adiew, and welcome pleasure now,

thou wish of ioy and ease of sorrow both:

To weare thy weede, I make a sollemne vowe,

let Time, or Chaunce be pleased, or be wroth.

And therefore sing to sollace mine annoy:

Care, Care, adiew, my hart doth hop for ioy.