In the person of a Lady to her inconstant servant.

WHen on the Altar of my hand,
(Bedeaw'd with many a kisse, and teare;)
Thy now revolted heart, did stand
An humble Martyr, thou didst sweare
Thus; (and the God of love did heare,)
By those bright glances of thine eye,
Vnlesse thou pitty me, I dye.

When first those perjurd lips of thine,
Bepal'd with blasting sighes, did seal….
Their violated faith on mine,
From the soft bosome that did heale
Thee, thou my melting heart didst steale;
My soule enflam'd with thy false breath,
Poyson'd with kisses, suckt in death.

Yet I nor hand, not lip will move,
Revenge, or mercy, to procure
From the offended God of love;
My curse is fatall, and my pure
Love, shall beyond thy scorne endure:
If I implore the Gods, they'le find
Thee too ingratefull, me too kind.