O deare that I with thee might liue

O deare that I with thee might liue,

From humane trace remoued:

Where iealous care might neither grieue,

Yet each dote on their loued.

While fond feare may colour finde, Loue's seldome pleased;

But much like a sicke mans rest, it's soone diseased.

Why should our mindes not mingle so,

When loue and faith is plighted,

That eyther might the others know,

Alike in all delighted?

Why should frailtie breed suspect, when hearts are fixed?

Must all humane ioyes of force with griefe be mixed?

How oft haue wee eu'n smilde in teares,

Our fond mistrust repenting?

As snow when heauenly fire appeares,

So melts loues hate relenting.

Vexed kindnesse soone fals off and soone returneth:

Such a flame the more you quench the more it burneth.