My hart imbraceth Loue, Loue doth imbrace my hart;
    My life a Phoenix is in my soules fire,
    From thence (they vow) they neuer will depart. 
      Desire, my loue, my soule, my hope, my hart, my life,
      With teares, sighes, and disdaine, shall haue immortal strife.

Amour 33

    Whilst thus mine eyes doe surfet with delight,
    My wofull hart, imprisond in my breast,
    Wishing to be trans-formd into my sight,
    To looke on her by whom mine eyes are blest;
    But whilst mine eyes thus greedily doe gaze,
    Behold! their obiects ouer-soone depart,
    And treading in this neuer-ending maze,
    Wish now to be trans-formd into my hart: 
    My hart, surcharg’d with thoughts, sighes in abundance raise,
    My eyes, made dim with lookes, poure down a flood of tears;
    And whilst my hart and eye enuy each others praise,
    My dying lookes and thoughts are peiz’d in equall feares: 
      And thus, whilst sighes and teares together doe contende,
      Each one of these doth ayde vnto the other lende.

Amour 34

    My fayre, looke from those turrets of thine eyes,
    Into the Ocean of a troubled minde,
    Where my poor soule, the Barke of sorrow, lyes,
    Left to the mercy of the waues and winde. 
    See where she flotes, laden with purest loue,
    Which those fayre Ilands of thy lookes affoord,
    Desiring yet a thousand deaths to proue,
    Then so to cast her Ballase ouerboard. 
    See how her sayles be rent, her tacklings worne,
    Her Cable broke, her surest Anchor lost: 
    Her Marryners doe leaue her all forlorne,
    Yet how shee bends towards that blessed Coast! 
      Loe! where she drownes in stormes of thy displeasure,
      Whose worthy prize should haue enricht thy treasure.

Amour 35

    See, chaste Diana, where my harmles hart,
    Rouz’d from my breast, his sure and safest layre,
    Nor chaste by hound, nor forc’d by Hunters arte,
    Yet see how right he comes vnto my fayre. 
    See how my Deere comes to thy Beauties stand,
    And there stands gazing on those darting eyes,
    Whilst from theyr rayes, by Cupids skilfull hand,
    Into his hart the piercing Arrow flyes. 
    See how he lookes vpon his bleeding wound,
    Whilst thus he panteth for his latest breath,
    And, looking on thee, falls vpon the ground,
    Smyling, as though he gloried in his death. 
      And wallowing in his blood, some lyfe yet laft;
      His stone-cold lips doth kisse the blessed shaft.

Amour 36