The Slight

I did but crave that I might kiss,
If not her lip, at least her hand,
The coolest Lover's frequent bliss,
And rude is she that will withstand
That inoffensive liberty:
She (would you think it?) in a fume
Turn'd her about and left the room;
Not she, she vow'd, not she.

Well, Chariessa, then said I,
If it must thus for ever be,
I can renounce my slavery,
And since you will not, can be free.
Many a time she made me die,
Yet (would you think 't?) I lov'd the more,
But I'll not take 't as heretofore,
Not I, I'll vow, not I.