When my dying
Life is flying,
Those sweet aires that often slew mee
Shall revive mee,
Or reprive mee,
And to many deaths renew mee.
OUT OF THE ITALIAN.
Love now no fire hath left him,1
We two betwixt us have divided it.
Your eyes the light hath reft him,
The heat commanding in my heart doth sit.[80]
O that poore Love be not for ever spoyled,5
Let my heat to your light be reconciled.
So shall these flames, whose worth
Now all obscurèd lyes:
—Drest in those beames—start forth
And dance before your eyes.10
Or else partake my flames
(I care not whither)
And so in mutuall names
Of Love, burne both together.
OUT OF THE ITALIAN.
Would any one the true cause find1
How Love came nak't, a boy, and blind?
'Tis this: listning one day too long,
So th' Syrens in my mistris' song,
The extasie of a delight5
So much o're-mastring all his might,
To that one sense, made all else thrall,
And so he lost his clothes, eyes, heart and all.