Since she whom I lov'd hath payd her last debt

To Nature, and to her's, and my good is dead,

And her soule early into heaven ravished,

Wholly on heavenly things my mind is sett.

Here the admyring her my mind did whett　

To seeke Thee, God; so streams do show their head,

But tho' I have found Thee, and Thou my thirst hast fed,

A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yett.

But why should I begg more love, when as Thou

Dost wooe my soule for hers, off'ring all Thine;　

And dost not only feare least I allow

My love to saints and angels, things divine,

But in Thy tender jealosy dost doubt

Least the World, Fleshe, yea Devill, put thee out?