I pray thee leaue, loue me no more,
      Call home the Heart you gaue me,
    I but in vaine that Saint adore,
      That can, but will not saue me: 
    These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite;
      Was euer man thus serued? 
    Amidst an Ocean of Delight,
      For Pleasure to be sterued.

    Shew me no more those Snowie Brests,
      With Azure Riuerets branched, 10
    Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts,
      Yet is my Thirst not stanched. 
    O TANTALVS, thy Paines n’er tell,
      By me thou art preuented;
    ’Tis nothing to be plagu’d in Hell,
      But thus in Heauen tormented.

    Clip me no more in those deare Armes,
      Nor thy Life’s Comfort call me;
    O, these are but too pow’rfull Charmes,
      And doe but more inthrall me. 20
    But see, how patient I am growne,
      In all this coyle about thee;
    Come nice thing, let my Heart alone,
      I cannot liue without thee.

A HYMNE TO HIS LADIES BIRTH-PLACE

                      Couentry, that do’st adorne
                    The Countrey wherein I was borne,
                    Yet therein lyes not thy prayse
                    Why I should crowne thy Tow’rs with Bayes: 
Couentry finely ’Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds walled. Thy Ports, nor thy proud Pyrameds, The Shoulder-bone Nor thy Trophies of the Bore, of a hare of But that Shee which I adore,
mighty bignesse. Which scarce Goodnesse selfe can payre,
                    First their breathing blest thy Ayre; 10
                    IDEA, in which Name I hide
                    Her, in my heart Deifi’d,
                    For what good, Man’s mind can see,
                    Onely her IDEAS be;
                    She, in whom the Vertues came
                    In Womans shape, and tooke her Name,
                    She so farre past Imitation,
                    As but Nature our Creation
                    Could not alter, she had aymed,
                    More then Woman to haue framed:  20
                    She, whose truely written Story,
                    To thy poore Name shall adde more glory,
                    Then if it should haue beene thy Chance,
                    T’ haue bred our Kings that Conquer’d France. 
                    Had She beene borne the former Age,
Two famous That house had beene a Pilgrimage, Pilgrimages, the And reputed more Diuine, one in Norfolk, Then Walsingham or BECKETS Shrine. the other in That Princesse, to whom thou do’st owe Kent.  Thy Freedome, whose Cleere blushing snow, 30 Godiua, Duke The enuious Sunne saw, when as she