|
| Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day, |
| Shall we, for this vain Bubless shadow pay? |
| Ends love in this, that my man |
| Can be as happy as I can; if he can |
| Endure the short scorn of a Bridegroomes play? |
| That loving wretch that sweares, |
| 'Tis not the bodies marry, but the mindes, |
| Which he in her Angelique findes, |
| Would swear as justly, that he hears, |
| In that dayes rude hoarse minstrelsey, the sphears. |
| Hope not for minde in women at their best |
| Sweetness and wit they are but Mummy possest. |
|
| The Curse. |
|
| Who ever guesses, thinks, or dreams, he knows |
| Who is my Mistris, wither by this course; |
| Him only for his Purse |
| May some dull whore to love dispose, |
| And then yield unto all that are his foes; |
| May he be scorn'd by one whom all else scorn, |
| Forswear to others, what to her h'hath sworn, |
| With fear of missing, shame of getting torn. |
|
| Madness his sorrow, gout his cramps may he |
| Make by but thinking who hath made them such: |
| And may he feel no touch |
| Of conscience, but of fame, and be |
| Anguish'd, not that't was sin, but that't was she: |
| Or may he for her vertue reverence |
| One that hates him only for impotence, |
| And equal Traitors be she and his sense.
|
[CW: May] |