Th’vnstedfast fancie of weake women’s heart,
Constant in nought, but in inconstant deeds,
In weaknesse strong, as if the soule’s best part
Composed were by fond loue’s artlesse art:
Alas, that faithlesse faults should so excell,
Where faultlesse faith with reason ought to dwell.
11.
She bath’d in blisse, while we lay drown’d in woe,
She grew in pride, while we did pine away,
She soft embrac’d in th’armes of our false foe,