LL me no more how fair she is, I have no minde to hear The story of that distant bliss I never shall come near: By sad experience I have found That her perfection is my wound. And tell me not how fond I am To tempt a daring Fate, From whence no triumph ever came, But to repent too late:
There is some hope ere long I may In silence dote my self away. I ask no pity (Love) from thee, Nor will thy justice blame, So that thou wilt not envy me The glory of my flame: Which crowns my heart when ere it dyes, In that it falls her sacrifice.
