Poor tortured lover! Like a perjured soul,
Swears till he's hoarse, yet never is believed!
(Who's once a villain, still is counted foul!)
O woful pity! when with wind relieved,
Learns this by wrote, Though Love unconstant be,
They must prove constant, will her comforts see!
Now to the humble heart of his dread Saint,
Eurialæ, he kneels; but's not regarded!
Then to Urania sighs, till he grows faint:
Such is her Wit, in silence he's rewarded!