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 servéd?
Amidst an ocean of delight
For pleasure to be starvéd?
Show me no more those snowy breasts
With azure riverets branchéd,
Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanchéd;
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!
— Michael Drayton
1563-1631
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