While thou wouldst weep, and I, unskilled in lies,
Wiped from thy lovely blush the trickling tear.

Why didst thou so? save that thy fancy strayed
To beauty fickle as thine own and light?
I let thee go. Myself the torches made,
And kept thy secret for a live-long night.

Sometimes I led to sudden rendezvous
The flattered object of thy roving joys.
Mad that I was! Till now I never knew
How love like thine ensnares and then destroyes.

With wondering mind I versified thy praise;
But now that Muse with blushes I requite.
May some swift fire consume my moon-struck lays,
Or flooding rivers drown them out of sight!

And thou, O thou whose beauty is a trade,
Begone, begone! Thy gains bring cursed ill.
And thou, whose gifts my frail and fair betrayed,
May thy wife rival thine adulterous skill!

Languid with stolen kisses, may she frown,
And chastely to thy lips drop down her veil!
May thy proud house be common to the town,
And many a gallant at thy bed prevail!

Nor let thy gamesome sister e'er be said
To drain more wine-cups than her lovers be,