"Faire dog, which so my heart dost teare asunder, That my live’s-blood my bowels overfloweth: Alas, what wicked rage conceal’st thou under These sweet enticing joyes thy forehead showeth: Me, whom the light-wing’d god of long hath chased, Thou hast attain’d: thou gav’st that fatall wound Which my soule’s peacefull innocence hath rased, And Reason to her servant Humour bound.Kill therefore in the end, and end my anguish, Give me my death; me thinks even Time upbraideth A fulness of the woes, wherein I languish: Or if thou wilt I live, then Pittie pleadeth Help out of thee, since Nature hath revealed, That with thy tongue thy bytings may be healed."