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What then is love but mourning?
What desire, but a self-burning?
Till she that hates doth love return,
Thus will I mourn, thus will I sing,
"Come away, come away, my darling."

— Thomas Campion A Book of Ayres (1601)

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More quotes by Thomas Campion

I care not for these ladies,
That must be wooed and prayed;
Give me kind Amaryllis,
The wanton country maid.
Nature art disdaineth;
Her beauty is her own.

A Book of Ayres (1601)

Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee,
When the ev'ning beams are set?

The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)

Hark, all you ladies that do sleep;
The fairy Queen Proserpina
Bids you awake and pity them that weep.

A Book of Ayres (1601)

Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee,
That she in peace may wake and pity me.

The Third and Fourth Bookes of Ayres (1617)

Follow your Saint, follow with accents sweet;
Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet.

A Book of Ayres (1601)

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Thomas Campion (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.