Tell me, Jove, should she disdain,
Whether were it greater pain,
Silent in thy flames to die,
Or say I love, and she deny.

Flames suppressed do higher grow;
Should she scorn when she does know
Thy affection, thou shalt prove
A glorious martyrdom for love.

Better to Love's mercy bow,
She may burn as well as thou:
On then timorous heart proceed,
For wounds are death that inward bleed.