I Do Not Seek To Quench Your

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

I Love Thee So, That, Maugre All Thy Pride, Nor Wit Nor Reason Can My Passion Hide. Do Not Extort Thy Reasons From This Clause, For That I Woo, Thou Therefore Hast No Cause But Rather Reason Thus With Reason Fetter, Love Sought Is Good, But Given Unsought Better.

To Bed, To Bed; Sleep Kill Those Pretty Eyes, And Give As Soft Attachment To Thy Senses, As Infants Empty Of All Thought.

I Can Again Thy Former Light Restore, Should I Repent Me: But Once Put Out Thy Light, Thou Cunning'st Pattern Of Excelling Nature, I Know Not Where Is That Promethean Heat That Can Thy Light Relume.

Death, That Hath Suck'd The Honey Of Thy Breath Hath Had No Power Yet Upon Thy Beauty.