University of Virginia Library

8. [Let Love kill me.]

Oh eies, leave of your weepinge,
Loue hath the thoughtes in keepinge,
That maie content yee;
Let not this misconceivinge
Where comfortes are receyving,
Causles torment yee.
Clowdes threaten but a showre,
Hope hath his happie howre
Thoughe longe in lastinge:
Time nedes must be attended,
Loue must not be offended
With to muche hastinge.
Yitt oh the painefull pleasure,
Wher loue attendes the leizure
Of loves wretchednes;
Where hope is but illusion,
And feare but a confusion
Of loues happines.
Yitt happie hope that seeth
Howe loue and life agreeth,
Of life depriue me;
Or let me be assurèd,
When life hath death endurèd
Loue will revive me.
But if I be that louer
That neuer shall recouer
But spight shall spill me,
Then let thus much suffize me,
That heavnes this death deuise me,
That loue shulde kill me.
Finis.