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| WRAPT in my careless cloak, as I walk to and fro, | |
| I see how love can shew what force there reigneth in his bow: | |
| And how he shooteth eke a hardy heart to wound; | |
| And where he glanceth by again, that little hurt is found. | |
| For seldom is it seen he woundeth hearts alike; | 5 |
| The one may rage, when t’other’s love is often far to seek. | |
| All this I see, with more; and wonder thinketh me | |
| How he can strike the one so sore, and leave the other free. | |
| I see that wounded wight that suff’reth all this wrong, | |
| How he is fed with yeas and nays, and liveth all too long. | 10 |
| In silence though I keep such secrets to myself, | |
| Yet do I see how she sometime doth yield a look by stealth, | |
| As though it seem’d; ‘I wis, I will not lose thee so:’ | |
| When in her heart so sweet a thought did never truly grow. | |
| Then say I thus: ‘Alas! that man is far from bliss, | 15 |
| That doth receive for his relief none other gain but this.’ | |
| And she that feeds him so, I feel and find it plain, | |
| Is but to glory in her power, that over such can reign. | |
| Nor are such graces spent, but when she thinks that he, | |
| A wearied man, is fully bent such fancies to let flee. | 20 |
| Then to retain him still, she wrasteth new her grace, | |
| And smileth, lo! as though she would forthwith the man embrace. | |
| But when the proof is made, to try such looks withal, | |
| He findeth then the place all void, and freighted full of gall. | |
| Lord! what abuse is this; who can such women praise? | 25 |
| That for their glory do devise to use such crafty ways. | |
| I that among the rest do sit and mark the row, | |
| Find that in her is greater craft, than is in twenty mo’: | |
| Whose tender years, alas! with wiles so well are sped, | |
| What will she do when hoary hairs are powder’d in her head? | 30 |
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