My Dyet.

NOw by my Love, the greatest Oath that is,
None loves you half so well as I:
I do not ask your Love for this;
But for heave'ns sake believe me, or I dy.
No Servant ere but did deserve
His Master should believe that he does serve;
And I'll ask no more wages, though I sterve.

'Tis no luxurious Dyet this, and sure
I shall not by't too Lusty prove;
Yet shall it willingly endure,
If't can but keep together Life and Love.
Being your Priso'ner and your slave,
I do not Feasts and Banquets look to have,
A little Bread and water's all I crave.

O'n a sigh of Pity I a year can live,
One tear will keep me twenty at least,
Fifty a gentle look will give;
An hundred years on one kind word I'll feast:
A thousand more will added bee,
If you an Inclination have for Mee;
And all beyond is vast Aeternitie.