A La Bourbon. Done Moy Plus De Pitie Ou[57.1] Plus De Creaulte, Car Sans Ci Ie Ne Puis Pas Viure, Ne Morir.

A poem by Richard Lovelace

I.
Divine Destroyer, pitty me no more,
Or else more pitty me;[57.2]
Give me more love, ah, quickly give me more,
Or else more cruelty!
For left thus as I am,
My heart is ice and flame;
And languishing thus, I
Can neither live nor dye!

II.
Your glories are eclipst, and hidden in the grave
Of this indifferency;
And, Caelia, you can neither altars have,
Nor I, a Diety:
They are aspects divine,
That still or smile, or shine,
Or, like th' offended sky,
Frowne death immediately.

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