Francis Beaumont (1584–1616) and John Fletcher (1579–1625)

SITTING in my window,

Pointing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god,

(I thought, but it was you,) enter our gates;

My blood flew out and back again, as fast

As I had prest it forth, and sucked it in,

Like breath; then was I called away in haste

To entertain you. Never was a man

Heaved from a sheepcot to a sceptre, raised

So high in thoughts as I: you left a kiss

Upon these lips, then, which I mean to keep

From you forever. I did hear you talk

Far above singing; after you were gone,

I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched

What stirred it so. Alas! I found it love.