The poem
What? Dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart? To take all mine and give me none again? Or have thine eyes such magic or that art That what they get they ever do retain? Play not the tyrant, but take some remorse; Rebate thy spleen, if but for pity's sake; Or, cruel, if thou canst not, let us 'scourse, And, for one piece of thine, my whole heart take. But what of pity do I speak to thee, Whose breast is proof against complaint or prayer? Or can I think what my reward shall be From that proud beauty, which was my betrayer? What talk I of a heart, when thou hast none? Or, if thou hast, it is a flinty one.