Mary Wroth

(1587-1651 / England)

74 - Poem by Mary Wroth

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 lighter.

Feathers are as firme in staying,
Wolves no fiercer in their praying.
As a child then leave him crying,
Nor seeke him so giv'n to flying


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, September 18, 2010



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