But oh, how slowly minutes roll When absent from her eyes, That feed my love, which is my soul: It languishes and dies.

Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame, False to my passion, fatal to my fame, Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove So true to lewdness, so untrue …

The clog of all pleasure, the luggage of life, Is the best can be said for a very good wife.

Farewell, woman! I intend Henceforth every night to sit With my lewd, well-natured friend, Drinking to engender wit.

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, And frustrate hope severer than despair.

If to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone, You and I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blust'ring wind, or swallowi…

Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar. Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell? Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway, far, Before you agonise them in …