Thomas Campion: Never Weather-beaten sail

Neuer weather-beaten Saile more willing bent to shore, neuer tyred Pilgrims limbs affected slumber more, than my wearied spright now longs to flye out of my troubled brest : O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soule to rest. Euer-blooming are the ioys of Heau'ns high paradice, cold age deafes not there our eares, nor vapour dims our eyes: glory there the Sun outshines, whose beames the blessed onely see ; O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my spright to thee. (Thomas Campion)