Let me
pour forth
My tears before thy face, whilst I stay
here,
For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they
bear,
And by this mintage they are something
worth,
For thus they be
Pregnant of thee;
Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of
more,
When a tear falls, that
thou falls which it bore,
So thou and I are nothing then, when on a
diverse shore.
On a round
ball
A workman that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, all;
So doth each tear
Which thee
doth wear,
A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,
Till thy tears mixed with mine do overflow
This world; by waters sent from
thee, my heaven dissolved so.
O more than moon,
Draw not up seas to drown me in thy
sphere,
Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear
To teach the sea what it may do too soon;
Let not the wind
Example find,
To do me more harm than it purposeth;
Since thou and I sigh one another's breath,
Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the
other's death.
