Classic Poem

Why doth that foole unjustly love accuse,
Who through his owne feare did occasion lose?
To misse an offer'd happinesse must be,
Or want of love, or too much modesty:
Thy scorne Lysarda I have justly won ,
Who wanted light when I embrac'd the Sun.
O look into my heart, thou wilt see there,
'Twas admiration onely caus'd my feare:
Respect curb'd my affection; let me dye,
(Displeasing thee) by thy enflaming eye:
Such death will make thy cruelty confesse,
I never wanted love, though happinesse.