60 Poem by Mary Wroth

Love as well can make abiding
In a faithfull Shepheards brest
As in Princes: whose thoughts sliding
Like swift riuers never rest.

Change to their minds is best feeding,
To a sheapheard all his care,
Who when his love is exceeding,
Thinks his faith his richest fare.

Beauty but a slight inviting,
Cannot stirre his heart to change;
Constancye his chiefe delighting,
Strives to flee from fant'sies strange,

Fairnesse to him is no pleasure,
If in other then his love;
Nor can esteeme that a treasure,
Which in her smiles doth not move.

This a shepheard once confessed,
Who lov'd well, but was not lov'd:
Though with scorne & griefe oppressed
could not yet to change be mov'd.

But himselfe he thus contented,
While in loue he was accurst:
This hard hap he not repented,
Since best Lovers speed the worst.