Poetry Archives

I was foretold, your rebell sex,
  Nor love, nor pitty knew;
And with what scorn you use to vex
  Poor hearts that humbly sue;
Yet I believ’d, to crown our pain,
  Could we the fortress win,
The happy Lover sure should gain
  A Paradise within:
I thought Loves plagues, like Dragons sate,
Only to fright us at the gate.

But I did enter, and enjoy
  What happy Lovers prove;
For I could kiss, and sport, and toy,
  And taste those sweets of love;
Which had they but a lasting state,
  Or if in Celia’s brest
The force of love might not abate,
  Jove were too mean a guest.
But now her breach of faith, farre more
Afflicts, than did her scorn before.

Hard fate! to have been once possest,
  As victor, of a heart
Atchiev’d with labour, and unrest,
  And then forc’d to depart.
If the stout Foe will not resigne
  When I besiege a Town,
I lose, but what was never mine;
  But he that is cast down
From enjoy’d beauty, feels a woe,
Only deposed Kings can know.