University of Virginia Library

An Elegie.

[To make the Doubt cleare that no Woman's true]

To make the Doubt cleare that no Woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it full in you.
Thought I but one had breath'd the purer Ayre,
And must she needs be false, because she's faire?
It is your beauties Marke, or of your youth,
Or your perfection not to studie truth;
Or thinke you heaven is deafe? or hath no eyes?
Or those it has, winke at your perjuries;
Are vowes so cheape with women? or the matter
Whereof they are made, that they are writ in water;
And blowne away with wind? or doth their breath
Both hot and cold at once, threat life and death?
Who could have thought so many accents sweet
Tun'd to our words, so many sighes should meet
Blowne from our hearts, so many oathes and teares
Sprinkled among? All sweeter by our feares,
And the Devine Impression of stolne kisses,
That seal'd the rest, could now prove emptie blisses?
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? Signe, to breake,
Or must we read you quite from what you speake,
And find the truth out the wrong way? or must
He first desire you false, would wish you just?
O, I prophane! though most of women be,
The common Monster, Love shall except thee
My dearest Love, how ever jealousie,
With Circumstance might urge the contrarie.
Sooner I'le thinke the Sunne would cease to cheare
The teeming Earth, and that forget to beare;
Sooner that Rivers would run back, or Thames
With ribs of Ice in June would bind his streames:
Or Nature, by whose strength the world indures,
Would change her course, before you alter yours:
But, O, that trecherous breast, to whom, weake you
Did trust our counsells, and we both may rue,
Having his falshood found too late! 'twas he
That made me cast you Guiltie, and you me.
Whilst he black wretch, betray'd each simple word
We spake unto the comming of a third!
Curst may he be that so our love hath slaine,
And wander wretched on the earth, as Cain.
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pittie
In plaguing him let miserie be wittie.
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,
Till he be noysome as his infamie;
May be without remorse deny God thrice,
And not be trusted more on his soules price;
And after all selfe-torment, when he dyes
May Wolves teare out his heart, Vultures his eyes,
Swyne eat his Bowels, and his falser Tongue,
That utter'd all, be to some Raven flung,
And let his carrion corse be a longer feast
To the Kings Dogs, then any other beast.
Now I have curst, let us our love receive;
In me the flame was never more alive.
I could begin againe to court and praise,
And in that pleasure lengthen the short dayes
Of my lifes lease; like Painters that doe take
Delight, not in made workes, but whilst they make
I could renew those times, when first I saw
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the Law
To like what you lik'd, and at Masques, or Playes,
Commend the selfe-same Actors, the same wayes
Aske how you did? and often with intent
Of being officious, grow impertinent;
All which were such lost pastimes, as in these
Love was as subtly catch'd as a Disease.
But, being got, it is a treasure, sweet,
Which to defend, is harder then to get;
And ought not be prophan'd on either part,
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.