To His Forsaken Mistress
Sir Robert Ayton
1570 to 1638
Track 1
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Hath brought thee to be loved by none.
But I can let thee now alone
Such fate ere long will thee betide
And I might have gone near to love thee,
Had I not found the slightest prayer
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find
And I shall sigh, while some will smile,
But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
With sere flowers to be thrown aside;
As worthy to be loved by none.
That lips could move, had power to move thee;
Arm'd with her briers, how sweet she smells!
When thou hast handled been awhile,
To see thy love to every one
Thy favours are but like the wind
The morning rose that untouch'd stands
And leaves fall from her, one by one.
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.
And since thou canst with more than one,
Her sweets no longer with her dwells:
But scent and beauty both are gone,
That kisseth everything it meets:
I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,