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You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant.
I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
And even for that do I love you the more.
Or rather do I not in plainest truth tell you I do not nor I cannot love you?
And I am sick when I look not on you.
For I am sick when I do look on thee.
Your virtue is my privilege...
...and commit yourself into the hands of one that loves you not...
Run when you will, the story shall be changed.
Ill run from thee & hide me in the brakes, And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.
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