Dear, back my wounded heart restore, 
   And turn away thy powerful eyes;
Flatter my willing soul no more:
   Love [must not]1 hope what Fate denies.

Take, take away thy smiles and kisses!
   Thy love wounds deeper than disdain:
For he that sees the heaven he misses,
   Sustains two hells of loss and pain.

Shouldst thou some other's suit prefer,
   I might return thy scorn to thee,
And learn apostasy of her
   Who taught me, first, idolatry.-

Or in thy unrelenting breast
   Should I disdain or coyness move,
He by thy hate might be releas'd,
   Who now is prisoner to thy love.

Since then, unkind Fate will divorce 
   Those whom affection long united,
Be thou as cruel as this force,
   And I in death shall be delighted.

Thus, whilst so many suppliants woo,
   And beg they may thy pity prove,
I only for thy scorn do sue: 
   'Tis charity here not to love.