Of a Woman that died for love of a Man.
Nor Love nor Fate dare I accuse,
Because my Love did me refuse:
But oh! mine own unworthinesse,
That durst presume so mickle blisse;
Too mickle ’twere for me to love
A thing so like the God above,
An Angels face, a Saint-like voice,
Were too divine for humane choyce.
Oh had I wisely given my heart,