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I’ll do with thee as Nero did,
when Rome was set on fire,
Not only all relief forbid,
but to a hill retire.
And scorn to shed a tear to see
thy spirit grown so poor,
But, smiling, sing until I die.
I’ll never love thee more.
Yet, for the love I bore thee once,
lest that thy name should die,
A monument of marble-stone
the truth shall testify,
That every pilgrim passing by
may pity and deplore
My case, and read the reason why
I can love thee no more.
The golden laws of love shall be
upon this pillar hung;
A simple heart, a single eye,
a true and constant tongue:
Let no man for more love pretend,
than he has hearts in store;
True love begun shall never end,
