Part 2 — TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS
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I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could speak, had power to move thee: But I can let thee now alone As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Thy favors are but like the wind That kisseth everything it meets: And since thou canst with more than one, Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none.
The morning rose that untouched stands Armed with her briers, how sweet her smell! But plucked and strained through ruder hands, Her sweets no longer with her dwell: But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one.
Such fate ere long will thee betide When thou hast handled been awhile, With sere flowers to be thrown aside; And I shall sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love to every one Hath brought thee to be loved by none.
Robert Ayton [1570-1638]