116. To His Coy Love

Michael Drayton. 1563-1631

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 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!
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!

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