48

If ever love had force in humane brest,
If ever he could move in pensive heart:
Or if that he such powre could but impart
To breed those flames, whose heat brings joys unrest.
Then looke on me; I am to these adrest,
I am the soule that feeles the greatest smart:
I am that heartlesse Trunck of hearts depart;
And I that One, by love, and griefe opprest
Non ever felt the truth of loves great misse
Of eyes till I deprived was of blisse;
For had he seene, he must have pitty show'd.
I should not have beene made this Stage of woe,
Where sad Disasters have their open show:
O no, more pitty he had sure bestow'd.