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To His Coy Love

I 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 **** me quite;

Was ever man thus served?

Amidst an ocean of delight

For pleasure to be starved.

 

Show me no more those snowy *******

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.

But see how patient I am grown,

In all this coil about thee;

Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,

I cannot live without thee!

m
Written by
Michael Drayton
1563-1631 / English
Lines·Words
24·149
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