To his Theora.
If still Theora you wear this disguise of Scorn up on your Eyes
If still Theora you wear this disguise of Scorn up on your Eyes, and suffer
not one smile approve th'obedience of my Immortal Love: Two Hells at once my Soul must try;
my own Affections, and your Cruelty. But if some kinder Aspect shall encline your
Heart to pity mine, I'le breath such Joys no envious Fate shall blast with a surprize, or Time translate.
Strange Providence! that Lovers still find Lips to Kiss as well as Eyes to Kill. Thus have you
seen Waves chac'd by th'troubled Ayr, move nothing but Despair, till some more friendly Winds do
stay their Murmers, and lead up a Beautious day. Great penances do make us prize (with greater
sense) our hopes of Paradice.
