1. NO; to what purpose should I speak? No, wretched Heart, swell till you break! She cannot love me if She would; And to say truth, 'twere pity that she should. No, to the Grave thy Sorrows bear, As silent, as they will be there: Since that lov'd hand this Mortall wound do's give, So handsomely the thing contrive, That she may guiltlesse of it live. So perish, that her killing Thee May a chance-Medley, and no Murther be. 2. 'Tis nobler much for me, that I By 'her Beauty, not her Anger dye; This will look justly, and become An Execution; that, a Martyrdome. The censuring World will ne're refraine From judging men by Thunder slaine. She must be angry sure, if I should be So bold to ask her to make me, By being hers, happier then she. I will not; 'tis a milder Fate To fall by her not Loving, then her Hate. 3. And yet this death of mine, I fear, Will ominous to her appear: When, sound in every other part, Her Sacrifice is found without an Heart. For the last Tempest of my death Shall sigh out that too with my breath. Then shall the world my noble ruine see, Some pitty, and some envy Mee; Then she her selfe, the mighty Shee, Shall grace my fun'ralls with this truth; Twas only Love destroy'd the gentle Youth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CENSUS-TAKER by ROBERT FROST THE POOL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 3. AFTER THE CLUB-DANCE by THOMAS HARDY THE TROOP SHIP by ISAAC ROSENBERG SONG OF THE SERPENT-CHARMERS by EDWIN ARNOLD MORE WALKS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |