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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498927" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A La Bourbon. Done Moy Plus De Pitie Ou Plus De Creaulte, Car Sans Ci Ie Ne Puis Pas Viure, Ne Morir</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498927" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I.<br>Divine Destroyer, pitty me no more,<br> Or else more pitty me;<br>Give me more love, ah, quickly give me more,<br> Or else more cruelty!<br> For left thus as I am,<br> My heart is ice and flame;<br> And languishing thus, I<br> Can neither live nor dye!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498927" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> II.<br>Your glories are eclipst, and hidden in the grave<br> Of this indifferency;<br>And, Caelia, you can neither altars have,<br> Nor I, a Diety:<br> They are aspects divine,<br> That still or smile, or shine,<br> Or, like th' offended sky,<br> Frowne death immediately.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Richard+Lovelace">Richard Lovelace</a></strong></div>

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