Author: Thomas Otway
Did but look and love awhile,
It was 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 not heat impart
Enough to melt the coldest ice,
Yet cannot warm your heart.
Oh, would your pity give my heart
One corner of your breast,
It would learn of yours the winning art,
And quickly steal the rest.
