Tixall Poetry/A Confession
XXXVI.
A Confession.
Since you will needs niy hart possesse,Tis iust to you it should confesse The faults to which tis given;It is to change much more inclin'dThen women, or the sea, or wind, Or ought that's under heaven.
Nor will I hide from you this truth,It hath been from its very youth A most egregious ranger;And since from me it often fled,With whom it was both born and bred, Twill scarce stay with a stranger.
Therefore, the gay, the blacke, the sad,Which makes me often thinke twere mad, With one kind looke could win it;Soe naturally it loves to range,That it hath left successe for change; And what was glory in it.
Nay, I to it became a sport,When I did soundly chide it fort, It would in smiles be saying,Your debts of love you must dispaireTo pay to all thats kind or faire, If long with one you're staying.
And now, if you are not affraid,After these truths which I have said, To take this arrant rover;Be not displeasd if I protest,I doubt the hart within your breast Will prove iust such another.