From the New York Tribune, January 5, 1913. By Christopher Marlowe. Come, live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and field And all the craggy mountains yield. There we will sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move Come, live with me and be my love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning; If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love.