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I.
Like to the sent'nel stars, I watch all night;
For
still the grand round of your light
And glorious
breast
Awake in me an east:
Nor will my rolling
eyes ere know a west.
II.
Now on my down
I'm toss'd as on a wave,
And my repose is made my
grave;
Fluttering I lye,
Do beat my self and
dye,
But for a resurrection from your eye.
III.
Ah, my fair murdresse! dost thou cruelly
heal
With various pains to make me well?
Then
let me be
Thy cut anatomie,
And in each mangled
part my heart you'l see.
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