O then 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, wrought she cares not how.
O thou that rul'st the confines of the night,
Laughter-loving Goddess, worldly pleasures' Queen,
Intenerate that heart that sets so
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 music 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.
