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.