Up to my mouth, t' incounter with your lip,
Might rob me of it: and be judg'd in this,
T' have Judas like betraid me with a kisse.
To Castara,
Looking backe at her departing.
Looke backe Castara. From thy eye
Let yet more flaming arrowes flye.
To live, is thus to burne and dye.
For what might glorious hope desire,
But that thy selfe, as I expire,