If so it hap this offspring of my care, 
These fatal Anthems, sad and mournful Songs, 
Come to their view, who like afflicted are; 
Let them yet sigh their own, and moan my wrongs. 
But untouch'd hearts, with unaffected eye, 
Approach not to behold so great distress: 
Clear-sighted you, soon note what is awry, 
Whilst blinded ones mine errors never guess. 
You blinded souls whom youth and errors lead, 
You outcast Eaglets, dazzled with your sun: 
Ah you, and none but you my sorrows read; 
You best can judge the wrongs that she hath done. 
That she hath done, the motive of my pain, 
Who, whilst I love, doth kill me with disdain.