Tixall Poetry.
271
Cruelty.
Past hope of cure, my heart doth grieve to see
Excesse of love repaid with cruelty.
Regardlesse she my torments doth despise,
And will not heale the wound made by her eyes.
O wretched I! that in one forme should see
Attractive sweetnesse with such cruelty.
The siren's charming voice alures us on,
Making us run to sure destruction.
So was I charmed when I her face did see,
Ne're thinking how her heart would torture me.
Excesse of love repaid with cruelty.
Regardlesse she my torments doth despise,
And will not heale the wound made by her eyes.
O wretched I! that in one forme should see
Attractive sweetnesse with such cruelty.
The siren's charming voice alures us on,
Making us run to sure destruction.
So was I charmed when I her face did see,
Ne're thinking how her heart would torture me.
