Your high round breasts--like golden cups

Krishna:
Your high round breasts--like golden cups--
And curving eyes, have stolen my wits away:
O lady fair, forbear your bitter fury,
And give the frenzied bee his draught of honey!

I clasp your hands, my fair sweet girl,
Be not so cruel, have pity on my lot:
How many times must I advise you
I may no more sustain the sting of love!

Vidyāpati says: You know full well.
That hope deferred is worse than death.