Anonymous

WOUNDED I am, and dare not seek relief

For this new stroke unseen but not unfelt:

No blood nor bruise is witness of my grief,

But sighs and tears wherewith I mourn and melt.

If I complain, my witness is suspect;

If I contain, with cares I am undone:

Sit still and die, tell truth and be reject:

O hateful choice that sorrow cannot shun!

Yet of us twain whose loss shall be the less,

Mine of my life or you of your good name?

Light is my death, regarding my distress,

But your offence cries out to your defame,

“A virgin fair hath slain, for lack of grace,

The man that made an idol of her face!”