Why see I lines so oft received and given?
This bed and that by tumbling made uneven?
Like one start up your hair tost and displaced,
And with a wanton's tooth your neck new-rased.
Grant this, that what you do I may not see;
If you weigh not ill speeches, yet weigh me.
My soul fleets[441] when I think what you have done,
And thorough[442] every vein doth cold blood run.
Then thee whom I must love, I hate in vain,
And would be dead, but dead[443] with thee remain.40