And call for thee to close mine eyes,
205 Or with thy lips to stop my dying soule,
That I might breathe it so into thy bodie,
And then it liu’d in sweete Elyziam,
By thee to die, were but to die in ieast,
From thee to die, were torment more then death,
210 O let me staie, befall, what may befall.
Queen. Oh mightst thou staie with safetie of thy life,
Then shouldst thou staie, but heauens deny it,
And therefore go, but hope ere longe to be repelde.