[39.] Cast off for shame ungentle maid
I
Cast off for shame ungentle maid
That misbecoming joy thou wear'st;
For in my Death (though long delay'd)
Unwisely cruel thou appear'st.
Insult o're Captives with disdain,
Thou canst not triumph or'e the slain.
II
No, I am now no longer thine,
Nor canst thou take delight to see
Him whom thy love did once confine
Set, though by Death, at Liberty:
For if my fall a smile beget,
Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.
III
Behold how thy unthrifty pride
Hath murtherd him that did maintain it;
And wary Souls who never tride
Thy Tyrant Beauty, will disdain it:
But I am softer, and that me
Thou wouldst not pity, pity thee.