Oh that joy so soon should waste!
Or so sweet a bliss
As a kiss
Might not for ever last!
So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious,
The dew that lies on roses,
When the morn itself discloses,
Is not so precious.
Or rather than I would it smother,
Were I to taste such another,
It should be my wishing,
That I should die kissing.
Playwright and poet 1572 – 1637