Since she whom I lov'd hath pay'd 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 streams 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 soul for hers: off'ring all thine:
And dost not only feare lest I allow
My love to Saints and Angels, things divinе
But in thy tender jealousy dost doubt
[Lеst the world, Fleshe]1, yea, Devill putt thee out