Unquiet thoughts, your civill slaughter stint,
And wrap your wrongs within a pensive hart:
And you: my tongue that maks my mouth a minte,
And stamps my thoughts to coyne them words by arte:
Be still: for if you ever doo the like,
Ile cut the string, Ile cut the string,
that maks the hammer strike.

But what can staie my thoughts they may not start,
Or put my tongue in durance for to dye?
When as these eies, the keyes of mouth and harte,
Open the locke where all my love doth lye;
Ile seal them up within their lids for ever,
So thoughts and words, so thoughts and words,
And looks shall dye together.

How shall I then gaze on my mistresse eies?
My thoughts must have some vent els hart will break,
My tongue would rust as in my mouth it lies,
If eyes and thoughts were free and that not speake.
Speak then, and tell the passions of desire;
Which turns mine eies, which turns mine eies
To floods, my thoughts to fire.
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