| Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue’s cloak?
|
| Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?
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| Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?
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| Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?
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| No, no, where shadows do for bodies stand
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| Thou may’st be abus’d if thy sight be dimmed
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| Cold love is like to words written on sand
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| Or to bubbles which on the water swim
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| Wilt thou be thus abused still
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| Seeing that she will right thee never?
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| If thou cans’t not o’ercome her will
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| Thy love will be thus fruitless ever
|
| Wilt thou be thus abused still
|
| Seeing that she will right thee never?
|
| If thou cans’t not o’ercome her will
|
| Thy love will be thus fruitless ever
|
| Was I so base, that I might not aspire
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| Unto those high joys which she holds from me?
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| As they are high, so high is my desire
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| If she this deny, what can granted be?
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| If she will yield to that which Reason is
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| It is Reason’s will that Love should be just
|
| Dear, make me happy still by granting this
|
| Or cut off delays if that I die must
|
| Better a thousand times to die
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| Than for to live thus still tormented
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| Dear, but remember it was I
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| Who for thy sake did die contented
|
| Better a thousand times to die
|
| Than for to live thus still tormented
|
| Dear, but remember it was I
|
| Who for thy sake did die contented |