Oh doe not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing;
Nor cast them downe, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being:
O, be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me;
Nor looke too kind on my desires,
For then my hopes will spill me;
O, doe not steepe them in thy Teares,
For so will sorrow slay me;
Nor spread them as distract with feares,
Mine owne enough betray me.