Er. Madam, that grief the better is sustain'd, That's for a loss that never yet was gain'd: You only lose a man that does not know How great the Honour is which you bestow: Who dares not hope you love, or if he did, Your greatness would his just return forbid; His humbler thoughts durst ne're to you aspire, At most he would presume but to admire; Or if it chanc'd he durst more daring prove, You still must languish in concealed love.