Tell me no more of constancy, The frivolous pretense Of cold age, narrow jealousy, Disease, and want of sense. Let duller fools, on whom kind chance Some easy heart has thrown, Despairing higher to advance, Be kind to one alone. Old men and weak, whose idle flame Their own defects discovers, Since changing can but spread their shame, Ought to be constant lovers. But we, whose hearts do justly swell With no vainglorious pride, Who know how we in love excel, Long to be often tried. Then bring my bath, and strew my bed, As each kind night returns; I'll change a mistress till I'm dead -- And fate change me to worms. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE FONT-GEORGES by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 14 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ULTIMATION by MAGDELEN EDEN BOYLE AN EPISTLE THROWN INTO A RIVER IN A BALL OF WAX by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE BEAU AND THE BEDLAMITE by JOHN BYROM ALL FOOLS by GEORGE CHAPMAN (1559-1634) |