 | Poems |  |
10
A cruell Mistris
Wee read of Kings and Gods that kindly tooke,A pitcher fil'd with water from the brooke;
But I have dayly tendred without thankes
Rivers of teares that overflow their bankes.
A slaughter'd bull will appease angry Iove
A horse the Sun, a Lambe the God of love,
But shee disdaines the spotlesse sacrifice
Of a pure heart that at her altar lyes.
Vesta is not displeas'd if her chast vrne
Doe with repayred fuell ever burne;
But my Saint frownes though to her honour'd name.
I consecrate a never dying flame.
Th'Assyrian King did none i'th' furnace throw,
But those that to his Image did not bow;
With bended knees I daily worship her,
Yet she consumes her owne Idolater.
Of such a Goddesse no times leave record,
That burnt the temple where she was ador'd.
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