When on the Altar of my hand
(bedew'd with many a kisse and teare,)
thy now revolted heart did stand 
an humble Martyr, thou didst swear, 
thus, and the God of Love did hear;
by those bright glances of thine eye,
unlesse thou pitty me I dye.

When first those perjur'd lips of thine,
Bepal'd with blasting sighs, did seale
Their violated faith on mine,
From the bosome, that did heale
Thee, thou my melting heart didst steale
My soule enflam'd with thy false breath,
Poyson'd with kisses, suck't in death.

Yet I nor hand nor lip will move,
Revenge or Mercy to procure
From the offended God of Love;
My curse is fatall, and my pure
Love shall beyond thy scorn endure
If I implore the Godds, they'l find
Thee too ingratefull, me too kind.