Nor in hope the world can show Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,A fitter love for me;
By feigned deaths to die.But since that I
at the last must part, 'tis best,
Thus to use myself in jest.Yesternight the sun went hence,
And yet is here to-day;
He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way;
Then fear not me,
But believe that I shall make
Speedier journeys, since I take
More wings and spurs than he.
When though sigh'st, thou sigh'st
But sigh'st my soul away;
When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,
My life's blood doth decay.
It cannot be
That thou lovest me, as thou say'st,
If in thine my life thou waste,
Thou art the best of me.