Perseda.
What can my tongue utter but grief and death?
Soliman.
The sound is honey, but the sense is gall:
Then, sweeting, bless me with a cheerful look.
Perseda.
How can mine eyes dart forth a pleasant look,
When they are stopp'd with floods of flowing tears?
Soliman.
If tongue with grief, and eyes with tears be fill'd,
Say, virgin, how doeth thy heart admit
The pure affection of great Soliman?
Perseda.
My thoughts are like pillars of adamant,
Too hard to take a new impression.