In the person of a lady to her inconstant servant

When on the Altar of my hand

(bedew'd with many a kisse and teare,)

thy now revolted heart did stand

an humble Martyr, thou didst swear,

thus, and the God of Love did hear;

by those bright glances of thine eye,

unlesse thou pitty me I dye.

When first those perjur'd lips of thine,

Bepal'd with blasting sighs, did seale

Their violated faith on mine,

From the bosome, that did heale

Thee, thou my melting heart didst steale

My soule enflam'd with thy false breath,

Poyson'd with kisses, suck't in death.

Yet I nor hand nor lip will move,

Revenge or Mercy to procure

From the offended God of Love;

My curse is fatall, and my pure

Love shall beyond thy scorn endure

If I implore the Godds, they'l find

Thee too ingratefull, me too kind.