Fly, Love, aloft to heav'n and look out Fortune,
Then sweetly, sweetly, sweetly her importune,
That I from my Calisto best beloved
As you and she set down be never moved.
And, Love, to Carimel see you commend me,
Fortune for his sweet sake may chance befriend me.
More verses by John Wilbye
- Alas What Hope Of Speeding
- As Fair As Morn
- Sweet Honey-Sucking Bees
- Lady, When I Behold The Roses Sprouting
- Fly Not So Swift, My Dear