I loved thee once; I'll love you no more.
Thine be the grieve, as is the blame;
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same?
He that can love unloved again,
Hath better store of love than brain;
God send me love my debts to pay
While unthrifts fool their love away!
Nothing could have my love overthrown
If thou hadst still continued mine;
Yea, if thou hadst remained thy own,
I might perchance have yet been thine,
But thou thy freedom did recall
That it thou might elsewhere enthral;
And then how could I but disdain
A captive's captive heart?
When new desires had conquered thee
And changed the object of thy will,
It had been lethargy in me,
Not constancy, to love thee still.
Yea, it had been a sin to go
And prostitute affection so;
Since we are taught no prayers to say
To such as must to others pray.
Yet do thou glory in thy choice
Thy choice of his good fortune boast;
I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice
To see him gain what I have lost;
The height of my disdain shall be
To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
To love thee still, but go no more
A-begging at a beggar's door.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem