He Begs a Kiss

Sorrow slowly killeth any,
Sudden joy soon murders many;
Then, sweet, if you would end me,
Tis a fond course with ling'ring grief to spend me.

For, quickly to dispatch me.
Your only way is, in your arms to catch me,
And give me dove-like kisses:
For such excessive and unlooked-for blisses
Will so much over-joy me.
As they will straight destroy me.