O had she not been fair and thus unkind,
Then had no finger pointed at my lightness;
The world had never known what I do find,
And clouds obscure had shaded still her brightness.
Then had no censor's eye these lines survey'd,
Nor graver brows have judg'd my Muse so vain;
No sun my blush and error had bewray'd,
Nor yet the world had heard of such disdain.
Then had I walk'd with bold erected face;
No downcast look had signified my miss;
But my degraded hopes, with such disgrace Did force me groan out griefs and utter this.
For, being full, should not I then have spoken,
My sense oppress'd had fail'd, and heart had broken.
