Epistle XXXIX. To his Mistress married to another

Married! and I not dead! it cannot be;
Is nothing certain but uncertainty?
Can truth it self prove false? I should as soon
Have thought the Sun vary'd into a Moon;
And that the Poles that ne'r knew how to vary,
Turn'd Planets now, and grow unstationary.
But Sol has chang'd his course, and we all know,
Those we call Poles, are Planetary too.
You whom I thought a Goddess, now I see,
Are but a woman, by inconstancy.
See what the covetous love of wealth can do,
It makes fair Ladies false and foolish too.
I could be sorry now, or vext, or worse;
But wrath or sorrow will enlarge my curse:
That anger's foolish, and that sorrow's vain,
That's us'd for that which can't be had again.
But what's this thing call'd marriage? must you be
Cloyster'd by that from all society?
Must only he enjoy you as a Bride?
And by his feast, famish the whole World beside?
You only did proclaim, when you did wed,
That both together meant to go to bed:
What need all this ado? can't we (my honey)
Do the same thing without the Ceremony,
Or proclamation? where two hearts agree,
Marriage is but a superfluity.
Nature did ne'r intend (without all doubt)
T'hang such a Jewel only in his snowt:
Nor were you made only for one Mans food;
Nor for the private, but the common good.
You have my heart, and do but lend me thine,
I'll give the Priest the lye, and say th' art mine.