Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

The Psalms foretell what I, what any shall do and suffer and say.

Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity

Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.

Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.

All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits, The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass, Is elder by a year, now, than it was When thou and I first one another saw: All other things, to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay; This, no tomorrow hash, nor yesterday, Running, it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

The heavens rejoice in motion, why should I Abjure my so much loved variety.