Go, wailing verse, the infants of my love, 
Minerva-like, brought forth without a Mother: 
Present the image of the cares I prove; 
Witness your Father's grief exceeds all other. 
Sigh out a story of her cruel deeds, 
With interrupted accents of despair: 
A monument that whosoever reads 
May justly praise, and blame my loveless Fair. 
Say her disdain hath dried up my blood, 
And starved you, in succours still denying; 
Press to her eyes, importune me some good; 
Waken her sleeping pity with your crying. 
Knock at that hard heart, beg till you have mov'd her, 
And tell th'unkind how dearly I have lov'd her.