To DEATH, CASTARA being sicke.

HEnce prophane grim man, nor dare
To approach so neere my faire.
Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,
Church-yards, Charnell houses, graves,
Where the living loath to be,
Heaven hath design'd to thee▪
But if needs 'mongst us thou' it rage,
Let thy fury feed on age.
Wrinckled browes, and withered thighs.
May supply thy sacrifice.
Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,
A flamed dar… shot from her eye,
Sing'd thy wings with wanton fire,
Whence th'art forc't to hover nigh her.
If Love so mistooke his aime,
Gently welcome in the flame:
They who loath'd thee, when they see
Where thou harbor'st will love thee.
Onely I, such is my fate,
Must thee as a rivall hate,
Court her gently, learne to prove.
Nimble in the thefts of love.
Gaze on th' errors of her haire:
Touch her lip; but oh beware,
Lest too ravenous of thy blisse,
Thou shouldst murder with a kisse.