X

Then do I love and draw this weary breath For her, the cruel Fair, within whose brow I written find the sentence of my death In unkind letters wrote she cares not how. Thou power that rul'st the confines of the night, Laughter-loving goddess, worldly pleasures' queen, Intenerate that heart that sets so light The truest love that ever yet was seen; And cause her leave to triumph in this wise Upon the prostrate spoil of that poor heart That serves, a trophy to her conquering eyes, And must their glory to the world impart; Once let her know sh'hath done enough to prove me, And let her pity if she cannot love me!