Robert Ayton(1570—1638)

Inconstancy Reproved

I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,

　And I might have gone near to love thee,

Had I not found the slightest prayer

　That lips could move, had power to move thee;

But I can let thee now alone

As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find

　Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,

Thy favours are but like the wind

　That kisseth everything it meets:

And since thou canst with more than one,

Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none.

The morning rose that untouched stands

　Armed with her briers, how sweet she smells!

But plucked and strained through ruder hands,

　Her sweets no longer with her dwells:

But scent and beauty both are gone,

And leaves fall from her, one by one.

Such fate ere long will thee betide

　When thou hast handled been awhile,

With sere flowers to be thrown aside;

　And I shall sigh, while some will smile,

To see thy love to every one

Hath brought thee to be loved by none.