Tixall Poetry.
143
XXVIII.
Inconstancy.
Tell me noe more of constancy,
The frivolous pretence
Of cold age, narrow iealousie,
Disease, and want of sence.
Let duller fooles, on whom kind chance
Some easie hart hath throwne,
Dispairing higher to advance,
Be kind to one alone.
The frivolous pretence
Of cold age, narrow iealousie,
Disease, and want of sence.
Let duller fooles, on whom kind chance
Some easie hart hath throwne,
Dispairing higher to advance,
Be kind to one alone.
Old men, and weake, whose idle flame
There owne defects discovers,
Since changing can but spred there shame,
Ought to be constant lovers:
But we, whose harts doe iustly swell
With noe vaine glorious pride,
Who know how we in love excell,
Long to be often tri'd.
There owne defects discovers,
Since changing can but spred there shame,
Ought to be constant lovers:
But we, whose harts doe iustly swell
With noe vaine glorious pride,
Who know how we in love excell,
Long to be often tri'd.
