To His Forsaken Mistress
Sir Robert Ayton
1570 to 1638
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I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
And might have gone near to love thee,
Had I found the slightest prayer
That lips could move, power to move thee;
But I can let thee alone
As worthy to be loved by none.
I confess thou'rt sweet; yet find
Thee such an of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the
That kisseth everything it meets:
And since thou with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd none.
The morning rose that untouch'd stands
Arm'd her briers, how sweet she smells!
But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with dwells:
But scent and beauty both are gone,
And fall from her, one by one.
Such fate ere will thee betide
When thou hast handled been awhile,
With sere flowers to be thrown aside;
And shall sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy to every one
Hath brought thee to be loved none.