Give thy thoughts no tongue.
In maiden meditation, fancy free.
Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.