Book I, Elegy 15

Oft have I dreaded much hardship from thy fickleness, yet never, Cynthia, treachery such as this. See into what perils fortune plunges me! Yet still thou art slow to succour my distress, and hast the heart to raise thine hands to array the yesternight's disorder of thy tresses, to adorn thy face with lingering care, and all unmoved to bear thy breast with Eastern gems, like some fair maid that goes to meet her bridegroom.

Not so was Calypso moved when the Ithacan left her and she wept of yore to the lonely waste of waves: many a long day she sat moaning his loss, her locks unkempt, and many a plaint she uttered to the cruel sea: and though she never more should see his face, she grieved remembering their long hours of happiness. Not so as the breeze bore afar the son of Aeson did Hypsipyle stand sorrow-laden in the empty nuptial chamber; Hypsipyle tasted of love no more, since once she pined for her lost Haemonian guest. Alphesiboea took vengeance on her own brothers for her husband's sake, and love brake the bonds of kindred blood. Evadne, glory of Argive chastity, perished in the fatal flame and shared her husband's pyre.

Yet none of these has prevailed on thee to change thy fashion of life that thou too might'st become a glorious memory. Cease at length by thy words to recall thy past faithlessness, nor provoke the gods thou hast so long forgotten. Rash girl, ah! deep, too deep will be thy sorrow for my peril, if aught of woe chance to fall on thee. Ere that shall many marvels be: rivers shall flow upward from the wild sea, and the year reverse its seasons, ere my love for thee shall alter in my breast: be what thou wilt, yet not another's own. Let not those eyes of thine seem of so little worth to thee, those eyes that oft made me believe thy falsehoods true! By them thou swarest, praying that if in aught thou hadst played me false thine own hands might pluck them forth. And canst thou raise them to the mighty sun and tremble not when thou rememberest thy guilty wantonings? Who made thee pale with many a shifting hue, and forced thine eyes to weep unwilling tears? — those eyes for whose sake I die with passion, thus to warn lovers in like plight to mine, "There's never witchery of woman that man may safely trust."