So Well I Love Thee So well I love thee, as without thee I
Love nothing; if I might choose, I'd rather die
The be one day debarr'd thy company.
Since beasts, and plants do grow, and live and move,
Beasts are those men, that such a life approve:
He only lives, that deadly is in love.
The corn that in the ground is sown first dies
And of one seed do many ears arise:
Love, this world's corn, by dying multiplies.
The seeds of love first by thy eyes were thrown
Into a ground untill'd, a heart unknown
To bear such fruit, till by thy hands 'twas sown.
Look as your looking-glass by chance may fall,
Divide and break in many pieces small
And yet shows forth the selfsame face in all:
Proportions, features, graces just the same,
And in the smallest piece as well the name
Of fairest one deserves, as in the richest frame.
So all my thoughts are pieces but of you
Which put together makes a glass so true
As I therein no other's face but yours can view.
Sonnet
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part -
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
- Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.
To His Coy Love
I pray thee love, 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:
There 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 rivers branched,
Where whilst my eyes with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched.
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell,
By my thou art prevented;
'Tis nothing to be plagu'd 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 enthrall me.
But see how patient I am grown,
In all this coyle about thee;
Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone.
I cannot live without thee.
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