Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Michael Drayton. 15631631116. 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 kill me quite— | 5 |
Was ever man thus servèd? | |
Amidst an ocean of delight | |
For pleasure to be starvèd? | |
Show me no more those snowy breasts | |
With azure riverets branchèd, | 10 |
Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts, | |
Yet is my thirst not stanchèd; | |
O Tantalus, thy pains ne’er tell! | |
By me thou art prevented: | |
‘Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell, | 15 |
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! | 20 |
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! |