 | Poems |  |
The Self-cruel.
Cast off for shame ungentle maid
That mishecoming Joy thou wear'st,
For in my Death (though long delay'd)
Unwisely cruel thou appearst.
Insult o're Captives with disdain,
Thou canst not triumph o're the slain.
That mishecoming Joy thou wear'st,
For in my Death (though long delay'd)
Unwisely cruel thou appearst.
Insult o're Captives with disdain,
Thou canst not triumph o're the slain.
No, I am now no longer thine,
Nor canst thou take delight to see
Him whom thy Love did once confine
Set, though by Death, at Liberty
For if my fall a smile beget,
Thou gloriest in thy own Defeat.
Nor canst thou take delight to see
Him whom thy Love did once confine
Set, though by Death, at Liberty
For if my fall a smile beget,
Thou gloriest in thy own Defeat.
63
Behold how thy unthristy pride
Hath murthered him that did maintain it;
And wary Souls who never tride
Thy Tyrant Beauty, will disdain it:
But I am softer, and that me
Thou wouldst not pity, pity thee.
Hath murthered him that did maintain it;
And wary Souls who never tride
Thy Tyrant Beauty, will disdain it:
But I am softer, and that me
Thou wouldst not pity, pity thee.
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