MADAME, for your newefangelnesse, Many a servaunt have ye put out of grace. I take my leve of your unstedfastnesse, For wel I wot, whyl ye have lyves space, Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place, To newe thing your lust is ay so kene; In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene. Right as a mirour nothing may enpresse, But, lightly as it cometh, so mot it pace, So fareth your love, your werkes bereth witnesse. Ther is no feith that may your herte enbrace; But, as a wedercok, that turneth his face With every wind, ye fare, and that is sene; In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene. Ye might be shryned, for your brotelnesse, Bet than Dalyda, Creseyde or Candace; For ever in chaunging stant your sikernesse; That tache may no wight fro your herte arace. If ye lese oon, ye can wel tweyn purchace; Al light for somer, ye woot wel what I mene, In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER THE RAIN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE BETTER PART by MATTHEW ARNOLD PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK AT ... THEATRE ROYALE, 1747 by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) NOCTURNE by JOHN VAN ALSTYN WEAVER AN EPITAPH, ON A FOOLISH BOASTER by PHILIP AYRES |