O cruel Love, on thee I lay br My curse, which shall strike blind the day ; br Never may sleep with velvet hand br Charm thine eyes with sacred wand ; br Thy jailors shall be hopes and fears ; br Thy prison-mates groans, sighs, and tears ; br Thy play to wear out weary times, br Fantastic passions, vows, and rimes ; br Thy bread be frowns ; thy drink be gall, br Such as when you Phao call ; br The bed thou liest on be despair, br Thy sleep fond dreams, thy dreams long care ; br Hope, like thy fool, at thy bed's head, br Mock thee, till madness strike thee dead, br As, Phao, thou dost me with thy proud eyes ; br In thee poor Sappho lives, for thee she dies.