Wake, my Adonis, do not die, 
One life's enough for thee and I;
Where are thy looks, thy wiles, 
Thy fears, thy frowns, thy smiles?
Alas, in vain I call: 
One death hath snatch'd them all:
Yet death's not deadly in that face, 
Death in those looks itself hath grace. 

'Twas this, 'twas this I feared 
When thy pale ghost appear'd, 
This I presag'd, when thundering Jove
Tore the best myrtle in my grove; 
When my sick rosebuds lost their smell,
And from my temples untouch'd fell:
And was for some such thing
My dove first hung her wing. 

Whither art thou, my Deity, gone?
Venus, in Venus there is none:
In vain a goddess now am I, 
Only to grieve and not to die:
But I will love my grief, 
Make tears my tears' relief,
And sorrow shall to me
A new Adonis be. 

And this the Fates shan't rob me of whilst I
A goddess am to grieve, and not to die.