WHEN thou, poor Excommunicate <br /> From all the joys of Love, shalt see <br />The full reward and glorious fate <br /> Which my strong faith shall purchase me, <br /> Then curse thine own inconstancy! <br /> <br />A fairer hand than thine shall cure <br /> That heart which thy false oaths did wound; <br />And to my soul a soul more pure <br /> Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound, <br /> And both with equal glory crown'd. <br /> <br />Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain <br /> To Love, as I did once to thee; <br />When all thy tears shall be as vain <br /> As mine were then: for thou shalt be <br /> Damn'd for thy false apostasy.<br /><br />Thomas Carew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-his-inconstant-mistress/
