"What shall I do"
di Thomas Betterton (1635?-1710)

What shall I do to show how much I love her?
How many millions of sighs can suffice?
That which wins other's hearts, never can move her,
Those common methods of love she'll despise.
I will love more than man e'er lov'd before me;
Gaze on her all the day, and melt all the night;
'Till for her own sake, at last she'll implore me,
To love her less, to preserve our delight.
Since gods themselves could not ever be loving,
Men must have breathing recruits for new joys;
I wish my love could be ever improving,
Though eager love more than sorrow destroys.
In fair Aurelia's arms leave me expiring,
To be embalm'd by the sweets of her breath;
To the last moment I'll still be desiring;
Never had hero so glorious a death.