h thou tak'st away our easefull rests,
Nurse to thy passions, making seeming-hate
Fewell to loue, and iealousie the bate
To catch proud hearts, fearefull suspition
Being forerunner to thy passion!
Who most doth loue, must seeme most to neglect it,
For he that shews most loue, is least respected.
What vertue is inioyd, thats not esteemd;
But what meane good we want, thats highly deemd:
Which is the cause that many men do rate
Their owne wiues vertues at a meane estate;
Their matchlesse beautie and vnualued worth
Seemes nothing in their eyes, nor bringeth forth
Effects of loue, when to a meaner farre,
Whose birth nor beautie comparable are;
With that he's cloid, his passions will admire
The very place whereon her footsteps were.
The life of sweets is kild without varietie,
One beautie still enioyd, breeds loathd satietie;
And kindnesse, whose command lies in our power,
We seldome relish; but if labourd for,
Our very soule is rauisht with delight,
It is so pleasing to our appetite.
Vrg'd by these reasons, she would faine conceale
The hid affection which her heart did feele;
And yet compassion of her louers state
(Whose outward habit shewd his inward fate)
Perswade with her to lend him some by-taste,
Lest through his loues griefe she his loues life waste.
Thrise happy daies (quoth she) and too soone gone,
When as the deed was coupled with the tongue,
And no deceitfull flattry nor guile
Hung on the Louers teere-commixed stile;
When now-scornd vertue was the golden end,
By which all actions were performd and scand;
And nothing glorious held, but what was free
From vassall guilt and staind impietie.
In those gold-times poore maidens might relie
(Heauens sweetest treasure, dearer chastitie)
Vpon mens words: but since that age is fled,
And that the staining of a lawfull bed
Is youths best grace, and all his oaths and passion
Must still be taken on him as a fashion,
To busie idle heads: oh, who can blame
If maids grow chary, since slie men want shame!
Say I should loue, and yet I know not why
I should make any such supposes, I;
Not that I am of such relentlesse temper,
Whose heart nor vowes, nor sighs, nor teeres can enter;
Nor am I only she, who thinks it good
To sprinckle Loues rites with their Louers blood.
Poore women neuer yet in loue offended,
But that too quicke to loue they condescended:
Their fault is