---

Richard Lovelace - Song.
Work rating: Low

                 I.
In mine one monument I lye,
  And in my self am buried;
Sure, the quick lightning of her eye
  Melted my soul ith` scabberd dead;
And now like some pale ghost I walk,
And with another`s spirit talk.

                 II.
Nor can her beams a heat convey,
  That may my frozen bosome warm,
Unless her smiles have pow`r, as they,
  That a cross charm can countercharm.
But this is such a pleasing pain,
I`m loth to be alive again.


             ANOTHER.

I did believe I was in heav`n,
When first the heav`n her self was giv`n,
That in my heart her beams did passe
As some the sun keep in a glasse,
So that her beauties thorow me
Did hurt my rival-enemy.
But fate, alas! decreed it so,
That I was engine to my woe:
For, as a corner`d christal spot,
My heart diaphanous was not;
But solid stuffe, where her eye flings
Quick fire upon the catching strings:
Yet, as at triumphs in the night,
You see the Prince`s Arms in light,
So, when I once was set on flame,
I burnt all ore the letters of her name.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.