Come live with mee, and bee my love, And wee will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and christall brookes, With silken lines, and silver hookes. There will the river whispering runne Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the Sunne. And there the'inamor'd fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray. When thou wilt swimme in that live bath, Each fish, which every channell hath, Will amorously to thee swimme, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. If thou, to be so seene, beest loath, By Sunne, or Moone, thou darknest both, And if my selfe have leave to see, I need not their light, having thee. Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legges, with shells and weeds, Or treacherously poore fish beset, With strangling snare, or windowie net: Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest The bedded fish in banks out-wrest, Or curious traitors, sleavesilke flies Bewitch poore fishes wandring eyes. For thee, thou needst no such deceit, For thou thy selfe art thine owne bait; That fish, that is not catch'd thereby, Alas, is wiser farre than I.
John Donne - 1572-1631
So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,
Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away;
Turn, thou ghost, that way, and let me turn this,
And let ourselves benight our happiest day.
We ask none leave to love; nor will we owe
Any so cheap a death as saying, “Go.”
Go; and if that word have not quite killed thee,
Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.
Or, if it have, let my word work on me,
And a just office on a murderer do.
Except it be too late, to kill me so,
Being double dead, going, and bidding, “Go.”