Wounded I am

Wounded I am, and dare not seek relief
For this new stroke, unseen but not unfelt;
No blood nor bruise is witness to my grief
But sighs, but sighs and tears
Wherewith I mourn and melt
If I complain my witness is suspect
If I contain with cares I am undone
Sit still and die, tell truth and be reject
Tell truth and be reject
O hateful choice that sorrow cannot shun

Yet of us twain whose loss shall be the less?
Mine of my life, or you of your good name
Light is my death regarding my distress
But your offence criеs to your defame:
A virgin fair hath slain for lack of grace
Thе man that made an Idol of her face