JOSHUA SYLVESTER

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, My love should shine on you like to the Sun, And look upon you with ten thousand eyes, Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. Wheresoe'er I am,- below, or else above you Wheresoever you are, my heart shall truly love you.

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��MICHAEL DRAYTON 116. To His Coy Love

PRAY thee, leave, love me no more, Call home the heart you gave me ! I but in vain that saint adore

That can but will not save me. These poor half-kisses kill me quite

Was ever man thus served ? Amidst an ocean of delight For pleasure to be starved ?

Show me no more those snowy breasts

With azure riverets branched, Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,

Yet is my thirst not stanched ; O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell !

By me thou art prevented : 'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell,

But thus in Heaven tormented.

Clip me no more in those dear arms,

Nor thy life's comfort call me, O these are but too powerful charms,

And do but more enthral me !

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