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To My Inconstant Mistress |
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Written by Thomas Carew
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When thou, poor excommunicate
From all the joys of love, shalt see
The full reward and glorious fate
Which my strong faith shall purchase me,
Then curse thine own inconstancy.
A fairer hand than thine shall cure
That heart, which thy false oaths did wound ;
And to my soul a soul more pure
Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound,
And both with equal glory crown'd.
Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain
To Love, as I did once to thee ;
When all thy tears shall be as vain
As mine were then, for thou shalt be
Damned for thy false apostacy.
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