Come live with me, and be my love
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields
And all the craggy mountains yields

If all the world and love were young
And truth in ev’ry shepherd’s tongue
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love

And we will sit upon the rocks
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals

Time drives the flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider’d all with leaves of myrtle

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linèd slippers for the cold
With buckles of the purest gold;

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten
In folly ripe, in reason rotten

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move
Then live with me and be my love

If youth could last, and love still breed
Had joys no date, nor age no need
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love