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 servèd？

    Amidst an ocean of delight

    For pleasure to be starvèd？

    Show me no more those snowy breasts

    With azure¹ riverets branchèd，

    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，

    But thus in Heaven tormented².

    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 thy heart alone，

    I cannot live without thee！

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