Kill me with kisses, if thou wilt destroy me.
SONNET. VI.
Sweet Corrall lips, where Nature's treasure lies,
The balme of blisse, the soueraigne salue of sorrow,
The secret touch of loues heart-burning arrow,
Come quench my thirst or els poor Daphnis dies.
One night I dream'd (alas twas but a Dreame)
That I did feele the sweetnes of the same,