Ix

Wilt thou be still unkind and kill me so, Whose humbled vows with sorrowful appeal Do still persist, and did so long ago Intreat for pity with so pure a zeal? Suffice the world shall, for the world can say How much thy power hath power, and what it can; Never was victor-hand yet moved to slay The rendered captive, or the yielding man. Then, O, why should thy woman-thought impose Death and disdain on him that yields his breath, To free his soul from discontent and woes, And humble sacrifice to a certain death? O since the world knows what the power can do, What were't for thee to save and love me too?