Dissolued lye, as though our dayes were donne."
The whilst I speake, my soule is fleeting[°] hence,
And life forsakes his fleshie[°] residence.
Staie, staie sweete ioye, and leaue me not forlorne
Why shouldst thou fade that art but newelie borne?
"Staie but an houre, an houre[°] is not so much:
But half an houre; if that[°] thy haste is such,
Naie, but a quarter—I will aske no more—
That thy departure (which torments me sore),
Maie be alightned with a little pause[°],