Classic Poem

When on the altar of my hand,
Bedew'd 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,
Be-paled 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, inflamed with thy false breath,
Poison'd with kisses, suck'd 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 ingrateful, me too kind.