DISDAIN (ENGLISHED THUS BY THE AUTHOR) by JOHN SUCKLING

To what end serve the promises
And oaths lost in the air,
Since all your proffer'd services
To me but tortures are?

Another now enjoys my love,
Set you your heart at rest:
Think not me from my faith to move,
Because you faith protest.

The man that doth possess my heart
Has twice as much perfection,
And does excel you in desert,
As much as in affection.

I cannot break so sweet a bond,
Unless I prove untrue:
Nor can I ever be so fond,
To prove untrue for you.

Your attempts are but in vain
(To tell you is a favour):
For things that may be rack your brain;
Then lose not thus your labour.

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