Thomas Otway (1652–1685)

I DID but look and love awhile,

’Twas but for one half-hour;

Then to resist I had no will,

And now I have no power.

To sigh and wish is all my ease;

Sighs which do heat impart

Enough to melt the coldest ice,

Yet cannot warm your heart.

O would your pity give my heart

One corner of your breast,

’Twould learn of yours the winning art,

And quickly steal the rest.