Take, o take, those lips away,
Thats so sweetly were forsworn!
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn!
But my kisses bring again-
Seals of love, but sealed in vain,
Hide, o hide, those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears!
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.
By: Shakespeare and Fletcher