TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS by ROBERT AYTON

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 speak 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 kisses 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 her smell!
But plucked, and strained through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with her dwell;
But seent 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,
Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;
And I will sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love for more than one
Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

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