Could I see you without passion, or be absent from you without pain, I need not beg your pardon for thus renewing my vows that I love you more than health, or any happiness here or hereafter.
Everything you do is a new charm to me, and though I have lanquished for seven long tedious years of desire, jealously despairing, yet every minute I see you I still discover something new and more bewitching. Consider how I love you; what would I not renounce or enterprise for you?
I much have you mine, or I am miserable, and nothing but knowing which shall be the happy hour can make the rest of my years that are to come tolerable. Give me a word or two of comfort, or resolve never to look on me more, for I cannot bear a kind look and after it a cruel denial.
This minute my heart aches for you; and, if I cannot have a right in yours, I wish it would ache till I could complain to you no longer.
Thomas Otway, an English poet, wrote this between 1678 and 1688 to Mrs Barry, an actress. She performed in Otway’s plays but would not take part in his real life passion for her. He died in poverty at the age of thirty-four with his love still unrequited.
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