O, call
not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays
upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine
eye but with thy tongue;
Use power with power and
slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lovest
elsewhere, but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to
glance thine eye aside:
What need'st thou wound
with cunning when thy might
Is more than my
o'er-press'd defense can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah!
my love well knows
Her pretty looks have
been mine enemies,
And therefore from my
face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere
might dart their injuries:
Yet do not
so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me
outright with looks and rid my pain.
No comments:
Post a Comment