To a Lady whose Husband was jealous of her cares of his Visits
When too much zeale doth fire devotion,
Love is not love, but superstition:
Even so in civill duties, when we come
Too oft, we are not kind but troublesome.
Yet, as the first is not Idolatry,
So is the last but grieved industry;
And such was mine, whose strife to honour you
By overplus hath robd you of your due.
Love is not love, but superstition:
Even so in civill duties, when we come
Too oft, we are not kind but troublesome.
Yet, as the first is not Idolatry,
So is the last but grieved industry;
And such was mine, whose strife to honour you
By overplus hath robd you of your due.
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