The Heart- breaking.

IT gave a piteous groan, and so it broke;
In vain it something would have spoke:
The Love within too strong for't was,
Like Poyson put into a Venice-Glass.

I thought that this some Remedy might prove,
But, oh, the mighty Serpent Love,
Cut by this chance in pieces small,
In all still liv'd, and still it stung in all.

And now (alas) each little broken part
Feels the whole pain of all my Heart:
And every smallest corner still
Lives with that torment which the Whole did kill.

Even so rude Armies when the field they quit,
And into several Quarters get;
Each Troop does spoil and ruine more,
Then all joyn'd in one Body did before.

How many Loves raign in my bosom now?
How many Loves, yet all of you?
Thus have I chang'd with evil fate
My Monarch-Love into a Tyrant State.