For such is thy sex, and the fault is not thine.
Thy love and thine honor, thy virtue and troth,
Given now to another, were yesterday mine;
Thou knowest not Love! then why should I be wroth?
’Tis the fault of thy race, and the fault is not thine.
Far stronger than Love were both riches and pride,
And swiftly and surely thy faith did decline;
Thy wounds they are healed, thy tears they are dried,
Thou couldst not remember—the fault is not thine.
Yet though thou art faithless, and falsely hast left me,