A Dialogue between a Lover, Death, and Love

Lover. Come, gentle Death. — Death. Who calls? — Lover. One that's opprest.
Death. What is thy will? — Lover. That thou abridge my woe,
By cutting off my life. — Death. Cease thy request,
I cannot kill thee yet. — Lover. Alas! why so?
Death. Thou want'st thy heart. — Lover. Who stole that same away?
Death. Love, whom thou serv'st; entreat him if thou may.
Lover. Come, Cupid, come. — Cupid. Who calleth me so oft?
Lover. Thy vassal true, whom thou shouldst know by right.
Cupid. What makes thy cry so faint? — Lover. My voice is soft,
Quite broke and spent with crying day and night.
Cupid. Why then, what's thy request? — Lover. That thou restore
To me my heart, and steal the same no more.
And thou, O Death, when I possess my heart
Dispatch me then at once. — Death. Alas! why so?
Lover. By promise thou art bound to end my smart.
Death. But if thy heart return, then what's thy woe?
Lover. That brought from frost, it never will desire
To rest with me, that am more hot than fire.