I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure; Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure; Time shall not lose our passages.

My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.

I shall die reading; since my book and a grave are so near.

Our critical day is not the very day of our death; but the whole course of our life.

All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

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