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Poem	My heart was slain, and none but you and I; Who should I think the murther should commit, Since but yourself there was no creature by, But only I, guiltless of murth'ring it? It slew itself; the verdict on the view Doth quit the dead, and me not accessary. Well, well, I fear it will be prov'd by you, The evidence so great a proof doth carry. But O, see, see, we need inquire no further: Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found, And in your eye the boy that did the murther; Your cheeks yet pale, since first he gave the wound. By this I see, however things be past, Yet Heaven will still have murther out at last.
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