The hill

Rise, noble soul and come away;

Let us no longer waste the day:

Come let us haste to yonder Hill,

Where pleasures fresh are growing still.

The way at first is rough and steep;

And something hard for to ascend:

But on the top do pleasures keep

And ease and joys do still attend.

Come let us go: and do not fear

The hardest way, while I am near.

My heart with thine shall mingled be;

Thy sorrows mine, my joys with thee.

Rise and come away.