69 Poem by Mary Wroth

An end fond Jelousie, alas I know
Thy hiddenest, and thy most secret Art,
Thou canst no new invention frame but part,
I haue already seene, and felt with woe.
All thy dissemblings, which by faigned showe,
Wonne my beliefe, while truth did rule my heart,
I with glad minde embrac'd, and deemd my smart
The spring of joy, whose streames with blisse should flow.
I thought excuses had beene reasons true,
And that no falshood could of thee ensue,
So soone beliefe in honest mindes is wrought;
But now I finde thy flattery, and skill,
Which idely made me to observe thy will,
Thus is my learning by my bondage bought.