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Henry King, Bishop of Chichester (Генри Кинг, епископ Чичестерский)

* * *

TELL me no more how fair she is,  
 I have no minde to hear  
The story of that distant bliss  
 I never shall come near:  
By sad experience I have found
That her perfection is my wound.  
And tell me not how fond I am  
 To tempt a daring Fate,  
From whence no triumph ever came,  
 But to repent too late:
There is some hope ere long I may  
In silence dote my self away.  
I ask no pity (Love) from thee,  
 Nor will thy justice blame,  
So that thou wilt not envy me
 The glory of my flame:  
Which crowns my heart when ere it dyes,  
In that it falls her sacrifice.

Henry King, Bishop of Chichester's other poems:
  1. To His Friends of Christ-Church upon the Mislike of the Marriage of the Arts Acted at Woodstock
  2. Upon a Braid of Hair in a Heart sent by Mrs. E. H.
  3. To a Lady Who Sent me a Copy of Verses at my Going to Bed
  4. An Elegy Upon The Death Of Mr. Edward Holt
  5. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme

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