Since she whom I lov’d hath payd her last debt

To Nature, and to hers, and my good is dead,

And her Soule early into heaven ravished,

Wholly on heavenly things my mind is sett.

Here the admyring her my mind did whett

To seeke thee God; so streames do shew their head;

But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed,

A holy thirsty dropsy melts mee yett.

But why should I begg more Love, when as thou

Dost wooe my soule for hers; offring all thine:

And dost not only feare least I allow

My Love to Saints and Angels things divine,

But in thy tender jealousy dost doubt

Least the World. Fleshe, yea Devill putt thee out.