Stay, Corydon, thou swain,
Talk not so soon of dying:
What though thy heart be slain,
What though thy love be flying?
She threatens thee, but dares not strike,
Thy nymph is light and shadow-like;
For if thou follow her, she'll fly from thee;
But if thou fly from her, she'll follow thee.
More verses by John Wilbye
- I Always Beg
- I Am Quite Tired With My Groans
- I Fall, I Fall
- I Live, And Yet Methinks I Do Not Breathe
- I Love, Alas! Yet Am Not Loved