61 Poem by Mary Wroth

61



Dearest if I by my deserving,
May maintaine in your thoughts my love,
Let me it still enjoy;
Nor faith destroy:
Butt pitty Love where it doth move.

Let no other new Love invite you,
To leave me who so long have serv'd:
Nor let your power decline
But purely shine
On me, who have all truth preserv'd.

Or had you once found my heart straying,
Then would not I accuse your change,
But being constant still
It needs must kill
One whose soule knowes not how to range.

Yet may you Loves sweet smiles recover,
Since all love is not yet quite lost,
But tempt not Love too long
Lest so great wrong
Make him thinke he is too much crost.

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