Since she whom I lov'd hath payd her last debt
To Nature, and to her's, 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 show their head,
But tho' I have found Thee, and Thou my thirst hast fed,
A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yett.
But why should I begg more love, when as Thou
Dost wooe my soule for hers, off'ring all Thine;
And dost not only feare least I allow
My love to saints and angels, things divine,
But in Thy tender jealosy dost doubt
Least the World, Fleshe, yea Devill, put thee out?