|
| For this love was not vowed by thee. |
| And yet it was thy gift being general, |
| The ground, thy heart is mine, what ever shall |
| Grow there, dear, I should have it all. |
|
| Yet, I would not have all yet, |
| He that hath all can have no more, |
| And since my love doth every day admit |
| New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store; |
| Thou canst not every day give me thy heart, |
| If thou canst give it, then thou never gav'st it: |
| Loves riddles are, that though thy heart depart, |
| It stayes at home, and thou with losing sav'st it: |
| But we will love a way more liberal, |
| Then changing hearts, to joyn us, so we shall |
| Be one, and one anothers All. |
|
| Song. |
|
| Sweetest Love, I doe not goe, |
| For weariness of thee, |
| Nor in hope the world can show |
| A fitter Love for me; |
| But since that I |
| Must dye at last, 'tis best, |
| Thus to use my self in jest |
| By fained death to dye; |
|
| Yesternight the Sun went hence, |
| And yet is here to day, |
| He hath no desire nor sense, |
| Nor half so short a way:
|
[CW: Then] |