When on the altar of my hand, Bedewed with many a kiss and tear, Thy now revolted heart did stand An humble martyr, thou didst swear Thus, and the God of Love did hear: -- By those bright glances of thine eye, Unless thou pity me, I die! When first those perjured lips of thine, Bepaled with blasting sighs, did seal Their violated faith on mine, From the soft bosom that did heal Thee, thou my melting heart didst steal; My soul, enflamed with thy false breath, Poisoned with kisses, sucked in death. Yet I nor hand nor lip will move Revenge or mercy to procure From the offended god of love; My curse is fatal, and my pure Love shall beyond thy scorn endure; If I implore the gods, they'll find Thee too ungrateful, me too kind. |