Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue's cloak?
Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?
Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?
Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?
No, no, where shadows do for bodies stand
Thou may'st be abus'd if thy sight be dim
Cold love is like to words written on sand
Or to bubbles which on the water swim.
Wilt thou be thus abused still
Seeing that she will right thee never?
If thou canst not o'ercome her will
Thy love will be thus fruitless ever.
Was I so base, that I might not aspire
Unto those high joys which she holds from me?
As they are high, so high is my desire
If she this deny, what can granted be?
If she will yield to that which reason is
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
Than for to live thus still tormented
Dear, but remember it was I
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.
