Mary Wroth

(1587-1651 / England)

Mary Wroth Poems

1. [bee You All Pleas'D, Your Pleasures Grieve Not Me] 9/18/2010
2. [no Time, No Roome, No Thought, Or Writing Can Give Rest] 9/18/2010
3. [o That No Day Would Ever More Appear] 9/18/2010
4. 12 9/18/2010
5. 13 9/18/2010
6. 15 9/18/2010
7. 17 9/18/2010
8. 18 9/18/2010
9. 19 9/18/2010
10. 2 9/18/2010
11. 20 9/18/2010
12. 23 9/18/2010
13. 24 9/18/2010
14. 44 9/18/2010
15. 45 9/18/2010
16. 46 9/18/2010
17. 47 9/18/2010
18. 48 9/18/2010
19. 49 (Song 7) 9/18/2010
20. 5 9/18/2010
21. 50 9/18/2010
22. 51 9/18/2010
23. 52 9/18/2010
24. 53 9/18/2010
25. 54 9/18/2010
26. 55 9/18/2010
27. 56 9/18/2010
28. 57 9/18/2010
29. 58 9/18/2010
30. 59 9/18/2010
31. 6 9/18/2010
32. 60 9/18/2010
33. 61 9/18/2010
34. 62 9/18/2010
35. 63 9/18/2010
36. 3 9/18/2010
37. 30 9/18/2010
38. 31 9/18/2010
39. 32 9/18/2010
40. 33 9/18/2010
Best Poem of Mary Wroth

74

Love a childe is ever crying,
Please him, and he strait is flying;
Give him, he the more is craving,
Never satisfi'd with having.
His desires have no measure,
Endlesse folly is his treasure:
What he promiseth, he breaketh,
Trust not one word that he speaketh.
Hee vowes nothing but false matter,
And to cousen you hee'l flatter:
Let him gain the hand, hee'l leave you,
And still glory to deceive you.

Hee will triumph in your wailing,
And yet cause be of your failing:
these his vertues are, and slighter
are his guifts, his favours ...

Read the full of 74

14 (Song 2)

All Night I weepe, all Day I cry, Ay me,
I still doe wish, though yet deny, ay me;
I sigh, I mourne, I say that still,
I only am the store for ill, ay me.

In coldest hopes I freeze, yet burne, ay me,
From flames I strive to fly, yet turne, ay me:
From griefe I hast, but sorrowes hye,
And on my heart all woes do lye, ay me.

[Hata Bildir]