If loves' a sweet passion
Why does it torment?
If a bitter, oh tell me
Whence comes my content?

Since I suffer with pleasure
Why should I complain
Or grieve at my fate
When I know 'tis in vain?

Yet so pleasing the pains
So soft is the dart
That at once it both wounds me
And tickles my heart

I press her hand gently
Look languishing down
And by passionate silence
I make my love known

But oh! how I'm blest
When so kind she does prove
By some willing mistake
To discover her love

When in striving to hide
She reveals all her flame
And our eyes tell each other
What neither dares name

[ William Shakespeare ]


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If loves' a sweet passion, why does it torment?
If a bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content?
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain
Or grieve at my fate, when I know 'tis in vain?

Yet so pleasing the pains, so soft is the dart
That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart
I press her hand gently, look languishing down
And by passionate silence I make my love known

But oh! how I'm blest when so kind she does prove
By some willing mistake to discover her love
When in striving to hide, she reveals all her flame
And our eyes tell each other what neither dares name


[ William Shakespeare ]
[ Original text ]