The poem
O, call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue; Use power with power, and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere, but in my sight, Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside; What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide? Let me excuse thee: "Ah, my love well knows, Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, And therefore from my face she turns my foes, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries." Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.