The Self-Cruel.[57:1]
Cast off, for shame, ungentle maid,
That misbecoming joy thou wear’st!
For in my death (though long delay’d),
Unwisely cruel thou appear’st.
Insult o’er captives with disdain:5
Thou canst not triumph o’er the slain.
No, I am now no longer thine;
Nor canst thou take delight to see
Him whom thy love did once confine
Set, though by death, at liberty;10
For if my fall a smile beget,
Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.
Behold how thy unthrifty pride
Hath murthered him that did maintain it;
And wary souls who never tried15
Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it:
But I am softer, and, (though[57:2] me
Thou wouldst not pity,) pity thee.
An Answer to a Song, “Wert thou much [?] Fairer than thou art,” by Mr. W. M.[58:1]
Wert thou by all affections sought,
And fairer than thou wouldst be thought,
Or had thine eyes as many darts
As thou believ’st they shoot at hearts,
Yet if thy love were paid to me,5
I would not offer mine to thee.
I’d sooner court a fever’s heat,
Than her that owns a flame as[58:2] great.
She that my love will entertain
Must meet it with no less disdain;10
For mutual fires themselves destroy,
And willing kisses yield no joy.
I love thee not because alone
Thou canst all beauty call thine own,
Nor doth my passion fuel seek15
In thy bright eye or softer cheek.
Then, Fairest! if thou wouldst know why:
I love thee ’cause thou canst deny.