O cruel beauty, meekness inhumane,
That night and day contend with my desire,
And seek my hope to k**, not quench my fire,
By d**h, not balm, to ease my pleasant pain;
Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire,
And bound my bliss, do not, alas! disdain
That I your matchless worth and grace admire,
And for their cause these torments sharp sustain.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his d**h,
Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames,
And Phaëthon, that heaven him reft of breath,
And Dædal's son, he nam'd the Samian streams:
Their haps I envy not; my praise shall be,
The fairest she that liv'd gave d**h to me.