Still do the Stars impart their Light
To those that travell in the Night;
Still Time runs on, nor doth the Hand
Or Shadow on the Diall stand;
The Streames still glide and constant are:
Only thy Mind
Untrue I find,
Which carelessly
Neglects to be
Like Stream, or Shadow, Hand, or Star.

Fool that I am; I do recall
My words, and swear thou'rt like them all:
Thou seemst like Stars to nourish fire,
But O how cold is thy desire?
And like the Hand upon the Brass,
Thou point'st at me
In mockery,
If I come nigh,
Shade-like thou'lt fly,
And as the Stream with Murmur pass.

Thrice didst thou vow, thrice didst thou swear,
Whisp'ring those Oaths into mine Eare,
And t'ween each one, as Seal of Bliss,
Didst interpose a sweeter kiss:
Alas that also came from Art,
For it did smell
So fresh and wel,
That I presume
'Twas thy Perfume
That made thee swear, and not thy Heart.

Tell me who taught thy subtile Eyes
To cheat true hearts with fallacies?
Who did instruct thy Sighs to Lie?
Who taught thy kisses Sophistry?
Believe't 'tis far from honest Rigour;
O how I loath
A tutor'd Oath!
I'll ne'r come nigh
A learned Sigh,
Nor credit Vows in Mood and Figure.

'Twas Venus to me whisper'd this,
Swear and embrace, protest and kiss,
Such Oaths and Vows are fickle things,
My wanton Son does lend them wings:
The kiss must stay, the Oath must fly:
Heav'n is the Schoole
That gives this Rule:
I cann't prove true
To that and you,
The Goddess is in fault, not I.

Who for any wrong would thus much do,
For my Revenge may something too;
She, O She make thee true to all,
Marry an Army, and then fall
Through scornfull Hatred and disdain:
But mayst thou be
Still false to me;
For if thy mind
Once more prove kind
Thou'lt swear thine Oathes all o'r again.

Another boat-load for the Further Shore,
Heap them up high in the stern;
Nae ane o' them ever has crossed before
An' never a ane 'll return.
Heavy it rides sae full, sae full,
Deep, deep is the River,
But light, light is the backward pull,
The River flows silently on.

A cargo o' corps that are cauld I trow—
They're grippy that grudge the fare—
An' the antrin quick wi' his golden bough
That's swappin' the Here for There.
Heavy it rides sae full, sae full,
Slow, slow is the River,
But light, light is the backward pull,
The River flows silently on.

In vain will they look wha seek for a ford,
Where the reeds grow lank an' lang:
This is the ferry, an' I am the lord
An' king o' the boat an' stang.
Heavy it rides sae full, sae full,
Black, black is the River,
But light, light is the backward pull,
The River, my River, flows on.