And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:
But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,
Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return again!
All that I sung still to her praise did tend;
Still she was first, still she my songs did end;
Yet she my love and music both doth fly,
The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy:
Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight!
It shall suffive that they were breathed and died for her delight.
Thoms Campion
Integer Vitae
[Integer Vitae = undivided, upright, blameless in life - from Horace 1.22: "Integer vitae scelerisque purus" - The man who is honest and pure in life... --Steve]