Classic Poem

Come, gentle Death! Who calls? One that's oppressed.
What is thy will? That thou abridge my woe
By cutting off my life. Cease thy request,
I cannot kill thee yet. Alas! why so?
Thou want'st thy heart. Who stole the same away?
Love, whom thou serv'st. Intreat him, if thou may.

Come, come, come, Love! Who called me so oft?
Thy vassal true, whom thou shouldst know by right.
What makes thy cry so faint? My voice is soft
And almost spent by wailing day and night.
Why then, what 's thy request? 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. Why so?
By promise thou art bound to end my smart.
Why, if thy heart return, then what 's thy woe?
That, brought from cold, it never will desire
To rest with me, which am more hot than fire.