I Lov'd thee once, I'll love no more, Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wert before, What reason I should be the same? He that can love unlov'd again, Hath better store of love than brain: God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away. Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, If thou hadst still continued mine; Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own, I might perchance have yet been thine. But thou thy freedom did recall, That if thou might elsewhere inthral; And then how could I but disdain A captive's captive to remain? When new desires had conquer'd thee, And chang'd the object of thy will, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy to love thee still. Yea it had been a sin to go And prostitute affection so, Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray. Yet do thou glory in thy choice, Thy choice of his good fortune's boast; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice To see him gain what I have lost; The height of my disdain shall be, To laugh at him, to blush for thee; To love thee still, but go no more A-begging to a beggar's door. Sir Robert Aytoun. THE THREE STATES OF WOMAN. In a maiden-time profess'd, Then we say that life is bless'd; Tasting once the married life, Then we only praise the wife; There's but one state more to try, Which makes women laugh or cry-- Widow, widow: of these three The middle's best, and that give me. Thomas Middleton. MY LOVE AND I MUST PART. Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part. Cruel fates true love do soonest sever; O, I shall see thee never, never, never! O, happy is the maid whose life takes end Ere it knows parent's frown or loss of friend! Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part. Thomas Middleton. PERFECT BEAUTY. It was a beauty that I saw, So pure, so perfect, as the frame Of all the universe was lame, To that one figure, could I draw, Or give least line of it a law! A skein of silk without a knot, A fair march made without a halt, A curious form without a fault, A printed book without a blot, All beauty, and without a spot! Ben Jonson. TO CELIA. Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.