Can She Excuse My Wrongs? - Sting, Edin Karamazov, Джон Доуленд

Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue’s cloak?

Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?

Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?

Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?

No, no, where shadows do for bodies stand

Thou may’st be abus’d if thy sight be dimmed

Cold love is like to words written on sand

Or to bubbles which on the water swim

Wilt thou be thus abused still

Seeing that she will right thee never?

If thou cans’t not o’ercome her will

Thy love will be thus fruitless ever

Wilt thou be thus abused still

Seeing that she will right thee never?

If thou cans’t not o’ercome her will

Thy love will be thus fruitless ever

Was I so base, that I might not aspire

Unto those high joys which she holds from me?

As they are high, so high is my desire

If she this deny, what can granted be?

If she will yield to that which Reason is

It is Reason’s will that Love should be just

Dear, make me happy still by granting this

Or cut off delays if that I die must

Better a thousand times to die

Than for to live thus still tormented

Dear, but remember it was I

Who for thy sake did die contented

Better a thousand times to die

Than for to live thus still tormented

Dear, but remember it was I

Who for thy sake did die contented