O had she not been fair and thus unkind, 
Then had no finger pointed at my lightness; 
The world had never known what I do find, 
And clouds obscure had shaded still her brightness. 
Then had no censor's eye these lines survey'd, 
Nor graver brows have judg'd my Muse so vain; 
No sun my blush and error had bewray'd, 
Nor yet the world had heard of such disdain. 
Then had I walk'd with bold erected face; 
No downcast look had signified my miss; 
But my degraded hopes, with such disgrace 
Did force me groan out griefs and utter this. 
For, being full, should not I then have spoken, 
My sense oppress'd had fail'd, and heart had broken.