Let me powre forth
My teares before thy face, whil'st I stay here,
For thy face coines them, and thy stampe they beare,
And by this Mintage they are something worth,
For thus they bee 
Pregnant of thee;
Fruits of much griefe they are, emblemes of more,
When a teare falls, that thou falst which it bore,
So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.

On a round ball 
A workeman that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, All,
So doth each teare,
Which thee doth weare, 
A globe, yea world by that impression grow,
Till thy teares mixt with mine doe overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.

O more then Moone,
Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare, 
Weepe me not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare
To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone;
Let not the winde
Example finde,
To doe me more harme, then it purposeth; 
Since thou and I sigh one anothers breath,
Who e'r sighes most, is cruellest, and hasts the others death.

Fair yellow murderess, whose gilded head
Gleaming with deaths; whose deadly body white, 
Writ o’er with secret records of the dead;
Whose tranquil eyes, that hide the dead from sight 
Down in their tenderest depth and bluest bloom;
Whose strange unnatural grace, whose prolonged youth, 
Are for my death now and the shameful doom
Of all the man I might have been in truth,

Your fell smile, sweetened still, lest I might shun 
Its lingering murder, with a kiss for lure, 
Is like the fascinating steel that one 
Most vengeful in his last revenge, and sure 
The victim lies beneath him, passes slow, 
Again and oft again before his eyes, 
And over all his frame, that he may know 
And suffer the whole death before he dies.

Will you not slay me? Stab me; yea, somehow, 
Deep in the heart: say some foul word to last, 
And let me hate you as I love you now. 
Oh, would I might but see you turn and cast 
That false fair beauty that you e’en shall lose, 
And fall down there and writhe about my feet, 
The crooked loathly viper I shall bruise 
Through all eternity: — 
                                         Nay, kiss me, Sweet!