You first reap'd of me: till you taught my nature
Like a rude storm to talk aloud, and thunder,
Sleep was not gentler than my soul, and stiller;
You had the Spring of my affections:
And my fair fruits I gave you leave to taste of:
You must expect: the winter of mine anger:
You flung me off, before the Court disgrac'd me,
When in the pride I appear'd of all my beauty,
Appear'd your Mistress; took into your eyes
The common-strumpet love of hated lucre,