Lope de Vega

“ Ungracious Julia! Know'st thou on whom
Thy fickle heart is fix'd anew?
Look that thou knowest him well;
In truth he cannot love as I do love!
Ambition guides thy greedy father's choice,
And truth and honour only second stand:
He'd have thee wed where his ambition points;
He hates the man who in fair variance slew
Otavio. Paris now call'd, doth journey with high hope;
He was despised, but now revenge may grow,
For, not like me, though noble be his blood,
He feels no rushing torrent of love's flood. ”

“ Let night's black darkness round the scutcheons play.
Wedded to Paris, most perfidious maid,
Heaven shall curse, I only dare upbraid;
For he may hate to-day
Who yester even did most madly love!
Why thus so generous with thy love? Oh, say—
Why give a cause to curse our wedding-day,
Why make my hope of bliss a heartless jest! ”

“ I go, Sir Count, my sad and gloomy way—
It seems the way to night, and shames the day:
My only hope to die;
And yet the death I seek I fly,
Yet, craving death, I am but coward clay,
As much as they who seek in hot revenge to slay. ”