Oh! then thy heart an equal change will prove,
And mourn the coldness that repell’d my love,
When tears and penitence will all be vain;
And I shall see thee weep for days gone by,
And in thy deep regret and fruitless sigh,
Find amplest vengeance for my former pain.
[56] “Your eyes are lode-stars.”—Shakespeare.
SONNET 178.
“Já cantei, já chorei a dura guerra.”
Oft have I sung and mourn’d the bitter woes