Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ||
17
To His Sweet-Heart Mistris Mary, A Papist.
What though from Rome in point of Faith I vary?Ile never break Faith, nor differ with Mary.
Though I don't bend my knee to liveless paint,
Yet (Mol) Ile kneel to thee, my living Saint.
If in mine ear thy Lips distill but Hony,
Ile never stand upon a Ceremony;
Ile be thy Beads-man (Sweet) I vow, I will,
For thy Indulgence is my comfort still.
But if You frown? if You be Refractory,
Pray for me then, I am in Purgatory.
Yet if You smile, that, like a Heaven heard prayer,
Delivers sooner than the Porphyrie Chair.
If for Your favour I am at a loss,
I, though no Papist, will bow to the Cross.
However (Dearest) You dispose of me,
I am resolv'd to be Your Votary.
Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ||