And must I lose in vaine so great a loue,
And build thy glorie on my ruin'd state?
And can a heauenly brest contract such hate?
And is the mildest sexe so hard to moue?
Haue all my offrings had no greater force,
The which so oft haue made thine altars smoke?
Well, if that thou haue vow'd not to reuoke
The fatall doome that's farre from all remorce,
For the last sacrifice my selfe shall smart,
My bloud must quench my vehement desires;
And let thine eyes drinke vp my funerall fires,
And with my ashes glut thy tygrish heart:
So though thou at my wonted flames did spurne,
Thou must trust those, when as thou seest me burne.