Mary Wroth (1587-1651 / England)
Lovers learne to speake but truth,
Sweare not, and your oathes forgoe,
Give your age a constant youth,
Vow noe more then what you'le doe.
Thinke it sacriledge to breake
What you promise, shall in love
And in teares what you doe speake
Forget not, when the ends you prove.
Doe not thinke it glory is
To entice, and then deceive,
Your chiefe honors lye in this,
By worth what wonne is, not to leave.
'Tis not for your fame to try,
What we weake, not oft refuse,
In our bounty our faults lye,
When you to doe a fault will chuse.
Fye leave this, a greater gaine,
tis to keepe when you have won,
Then what purchas'd is with paine,
Soone after in all scorne to shun.
For if worthlesse to be priz'd,
Why at first will you it move?
And if worthy, why dispis'd?
You cannot sweare, and lie, and love.
Love alasse you cannot like,
Tis but for a fashion mov'd,
None can chuse, and then dislike,
Unlesse it be by faslhood prov'd.
But your choyce is, and your love.
How most number to deceive,
As if honors claime did move
Like Popish Lawe, none safe to leave.
Flye this folly, and returne
Unto truth in Love, and try,
None but Martir's happy burne,
More shamefull ends they have that lye.
Comments about this poem (94 by Mary Wroth )
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