The Mourning Bride

Ask again that question.

Speak again in that soft voice,

and look again with wishes in thy eyes.

Oh no! Thou canst not.

Canst thou forgive me then?

Will thou believe so kindly of my fault,

to call it Madness?

Oh, give that madness yet a milder name,

and call it Passion.

then still be more kind, and call that passion, Love.

Hell, hell,
Yet I'll be calm.

but now the dawn begins, 

and the slow hand of fate 

is stretched to draw the veil

and leave Thee bare...

Heaven has no rage, like love and hatred turn'd

Nor hell a fury, like a woman scorn'd.

Russell Boyle

                  (excerpt) by William Congreve