'Tis but a frown

'Tis but a frown, I prithee let me die,

On bended brow concludes my tragedy.

For all my love I crave but this of thee,

Thou wilt not be too long in killing me.

If that you love not, what avails your smiles?

You only warm a ball of snow the whiles,

Which whilst it gathers comfort from your eyes,

With that same comfort melts away and dies.

Thus in the end your smiles, your frowns, are one,

And differ but in execution.