His covetous eyes; such as I scorn to tread on:
Richer than e're he saw yet, and more tempting;
Had I known he had stoop'd at that, I had sav'd mine honour,
I had been happy still: but let him take it,
And let him brag how poorly I am rewarded:
Let him goe conquer still weak wretched Ladies:
Love has his angry Quiver too, his deadly,
And when he finds scorn, armed at the strongest:
I am a fool to fret thus, for a fool:
An old blind fool too: I lose my health? I will not: