text: I might!unhappy wordO me, I might,
  And then would not, or could not, see my bliss;
  Till now wrapt in a most infernal night,
  I find how heav'nly day, wretch! I did miss.
  Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right;
  No lovely Paris made thy Helen his,
  No force, no fraud robb'd thee of thy delight,
  Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is;
  But to myself myself did give the blow,
  While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me
  That I respects for both our sakes must show:
  And yet could not by rising morn foresee
  How fair a day was near: O punish'd eyes,
  That I had been more foolish,or more wise!