So many loves have I neglected

So many loves have I neglected
Whose good parts might move me,
That now I live of all rejected;
There is none will love me.
Why is maiden heat so coy?
It freezeth when it burneth,
Loseth what it might enjoy,
And, having lost it, mourneth.

Should I then woo, that have been wooed,
Seeking them that fly me?
When I my faith with tears have vowed,
And when all deny me,
Who will pity my disgrace,
Which love might have prevented?
There is no submission base
Where error is repented.

O happy men, whose hopes are licensed
To discourse their passion,
While women are confined to silence,
Losing wished occasion!
Yet our tongues than theirs, men say,
Are apter to be moving:
Women are more dumb than they,
But in their thoughts more moving.

When I compare my former strangeness
With my present doting,
I pity men that speak in plainness,
Their true heart's devoting;
While we (with repentance) jest
At their submissive passion.
Maids, I see, are never blest
That strange be but for fashion.