I might!—unhappy word—O me,
I might, And then would not, or could not, see my bliss; Till now wrapt in a most infernal night, I find how heav'nly day, wretch!
I did miss. Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right; No lovely Paris made thy Helen his, No force, no fraud robb'd thee of thy delight, Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is; But to myself myself did give the blow, While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me That I respects for both our sakes must show: And yet could not by rising morn foresee How fair a day was near:
O punish'd eyes, That I had been more foolish,—or more wise!
