A book of women's verse

by Unknown

And yet I love this false, this worthless man,

With all the passion that a woman can;

Doat on his imperfections, though I spy

Nothing to love; I love, and know not why.

Since ’tis decreed in the dark book of Fate,

That I should love, and he should be ingrate.

28. Mocked in Anger

Farewell, ungrateful man, sail to some land,

Where treachery and ingratitude command;