Classic Poem

Deare, though unconstant, these I send to you
As witnesses, that still my Love is true.
Receive these Lines as Images of Death,
That beare the Infants of my latest breath,
And to my tryumph, though I dye in woe,
With welcome glory, since you will it so,
Especially, my ending is the lesse,
When I Examples see of my distresse.
As Dido , one whose misery was had
By Love, for which shee in Deathes robes was clad;
Yet lost shee lesse then I, for I possest
And love enjoy'd, she lik'd, what was profest
Most cruell, and the death-lik'st kind of ill,
To lose the blessing of contentments will.
Faire Ariadne never tooke more care,
Then I did how you might in safety fare,
Her thrid my life was to draw you from harme,
My study wholly how I might all charme
That dangerous were, while pleasures you optain'd,
And I the hazard with the labour gain'd:
Yet shee this his life sav'd, he her honor lost,
That false Prince Theseus flying, left her crost
With his abandoning her truth, and love
Leaving her desolate, alone to prove
His Love, or ended, or but given for neede,
Caus'd her with misery to gaine that meed.
I Ariadne am alike oppress'd,
Alike deserving, and alike distress'd:
Ungratefull Demophon , to Phillis faire
A Thracian Lady, caus'd by like dispaire,
Or greater farr, for after fervent love,
In which bless'd time he freely still did prove:
What is desir'd, or lov'd, he left this Queene
And bliss, for a lesse Kingdome which had beene
Before his fathers, and by reason right,
For Theseus was his Sire that King of spight.
Thus did he both inherit state, and ill,
While Phillis selfe, her lovely selfe did kill,
Making a Tree her Throne, a Cord the end
Of her affections, which his shame did send.
I strangled am, with your unkindnes choak'd
While cruelty is with occasions cloak'd.
Medea Witch, with her enchanting skill
Did purchase what was craved by her will,
Yet was by Jason left at last, which showes
Love only free from all bewitching blowes.
But his owne witchcraft, which is worst of ills,
Never absenting till all joy it spills.
Charms it may be, with-held you now from me,
Breake through them, leave that Circes so oft free,
The Syrens songe, Calypsoes sweete delights
And looke on faith, which light is of true lights.
Turne backe the eyes of your chang'd heart, and see
How much you sought, how fondly once sought me,
What travell did you take to win my love?
How did you sue that I as kind would prove?
This is forgot as yesterdayes lik'd sport,
Love winning lasting long, once won proves short.
I like Penelope have all this time
Of your absenting, let no thought to clime
In me of change, though courted, and pursu'd
By love, perswasions, and even fashons rude
Almost to force extending, yet still she
Continued constant, and as I am free.
Ten yeares a cause was for Ulisses stay
While Troy beseiged was, but then away
Was homeward bent by all, save him who stayd,
And ten yeares more on forraine beautyes pray'd.
Against his will, he oft his will enjoyed.
And with variety at last was cloy'd.
Chainge wearyed him, when weary he return'd,
And from his wandring then to staydnes turn'd.
Come you now backe, I thus invite you home,
And love you, as if you did never roame:
I have forgot it as if never done,
And doe but thinke me a new to be wone.
I shall appeare, it may be, as I did,
And all passd falts shall in my breast be hid,
Try me againe, and you shall truely find,
Where fairenesse wanteth, clearenes of a minde;
Fairer, and richer then the masse of all
Their persons, which from me have made you fall,
If joyn'd together, and from thence to frame
A minde of beauteous faith, fit for the name
Of worthy Constancy inrich'd with truth,
Which gave me to you, and so held my youth
In young desires, still growing to your love,
Nourish them now, and let me your love prove.
Leave the new powerful charms of strangers tongus,
Which alwayes truth with their faire falshood wrongs.
Come backe to me, who never knew the plot
To crosse your minde, or to thy will an nott:
Come, I say, come againe, and with Ulisses
Enjoy the blessings of your best blisses;
Happy the comfort of a chaste loves bed,
Blessed the pillow that upholds the head
Of loyall loving, shame's the others due,
Leave those for me who cannot be but true.
Come, and give life, or in your stay send death
To her that lives in you, else drawes no breath.