Ii

Give period to my matter of complaining, Fair wonder of our time's admiring eye, And entertain no more thy long disdaining, Or give me leave at last that I may die. For who can live, perpetually secluded From death to life, that loathes her discontent? Lest by some hope seducively deluded, Such thoughts aspire to fortunate event; But I that now have drawn mal-pleasant breath Under the burden of thy cruel hate, O, I must long and linger after death, And yet I dare not give my life her date; For if I die and thou repent t' have slain me, 'Twill grieve me more than if thou didst disdain me.