O Turn away those cruell eyes, 
The stars of my undoing, 
Or death in such a bright disguise, 
May tempt a second wooing:
Punish their blind and impious pride, 
Who dare contemne thy Glory, 
It was my fall that deifyde 
Thy name, and seald thy story. 

Yet no new suffering can prepare
A higher praise to crown that,
Though my first death proclaime thee fair,
My second will unthrone thee.
Lovers will doubt thou canst intice
No other for thy fuell,
And if thou turne one victim twice,
Or thinke thee poor, or cruell.