TO
STREPHON
.
TO
me
his
sighs
,
to
me
are
all
his
vows
,
But
there's
my
hell
the
depth
of
all
my
woes
,
We
burn
alike
,
but
oh
the
distant
bliss
,
A
view
of
that
my
greatest
torment
is
;
Accurst
ambition
,
groveling
interest
,
Such
heated
crimes
as
yet
did
never
rest
Within
my
Soul
,
must
now
unjustly
keep
Me
from
my
Heaven
would
they
may
sink
as
deep
,
As
that
black
Chaos
whence
they
sprung
,
and
leave
Those
mortals
wretched
which
they
now
deceive
.