O waves that well had sunk my life, sweep back to me again!
I will not fight your coming now, or flee from your pursuing!
But bear me, beat me, dash me to the land of Death, and then
I'll find the love Death stole from me, and scorn him with my wooing!
Oh, I will light his gloomy orbs with jealous, mad surprise;
Oh, I will crush his pride, e'en with the lack of my endeavor;
The while I boldly bear away, from underneath his eyes,
The soul that God had made for me to lose no more forever;
Ay, she will go with me.
Pull down the window-lattice, Jane, and turn me in my bed,