Ii

Go, wailing verse, the infants of my love, Minerva-like, brought forth without a mother; Present the image of the cares I prove, Witness your father's grief exceeds all other. Sigh out a story of her cruel deeds, With interrupted accents of despair; A monument that whosoever reads, May justly praise and blame my loveless Fair; Say her disdain hath dried up my blood, And starved you, in succours still denying; Press to her eyes, importune me some good, Waken her sleeping pity with your crying: Knock at her hard heart, beg till you have moved her, And tell th'unkind how dearly I have loved her.