If I must die, O let me choose my death;
Suck out my soul with kisses, cruel maid,
In thy breasts’ crystal balls embalm my breath,
Dole it all out in sighs when I am laid;
Thy lips on mine like cupping-glasses clasp,
Let our tongues meet and strive as they would sting,
Crush out my wind with one strait-girting grasp,
Stabs on my heart keep time whilst thou dost sing;
Thy eyes like searing-irons burn out mine