Poems and Dramas of Fulke Greville :: :: University of Virginia Library

Alas poore soule, thinke you to master Loue,
With constant faith; doe you hope true deuotion
Can stay that God-head, which liues but to moue,
And turne mens hearts, like Vanes, with outward motion.

No; proud Desire thou run'st Misfortunes way,
Loue is to hers, like Vessells made of glasse;
Delightfull while they do not fall away;
But broken, neuer brought to that it was.

When Honours Audit cals for thy receipt,
And chargeth on thy head much time mispent;
Nature corrupted by thy vaine conceipt,
Thy Reason seruile, poore, and passion-rent.

What shall be thy excuse, what canst thou say?
That thou hast erred out of Loue and wonder?
No hereticke, thou Cupid dost betray
And with religion wouldst bring Princes vnder;

By merit banish Chance from Beauties sky,
Set other lawes in Womens hearts, than will;
Cut Changes wings, that she no more may flye,
Hoping to make that constant, which is ill;
Therefore the doome is, wherein thou must rest,
Myra that scornes thee, shall loue many best.