Except my self, who Love’s sad Watch did keep;
Arm’d with his Ponyard, and his Breast all bare,
His Face all pale with restless Love and Fear;
So many wild and frantick things he said,
And so much Grief and Passion too betray’d,
So often vow’d he’d finish there his Life,
If I refus’d him to become his Wife;
That I half-dying, said it should be so;
Which though I fear’d, Oh, how I wish’d it too!
Both prostrate on the Ground i’th’ face of Heaven,