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Awake, sweet love, thou art return'd:
My heart, which long in absence mourn'd,
Lives now in perfect joy.
Let love, which never absent dies,
Now live for ever in her eyes,
Whence came my first annoy.
Only herself hath seemed fair:
She only I could love,
She only drave me to despair,
When she unkind did prove.
Despair did she make me wish to die;
That I my joys might end:
She only, which did make me fly,
My state may now amend.

If she esteem thee now aught worth,
She will not grieve thy love henceforth,
Which so despair hath prov'd.
Despair hath proved now in me,
That love will not unconstant be,
Though long in vain I lov'd.
If she at last reward thy love,
And all thy harms repair,
Thy happiness will sweeter prove,
Rais'd up from deep despair.
And if that now thou welcome be,
When thou with her dost meet,
She all this while but play'd with thee,
To make thy joys more sweet.

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