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 crowned. <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 />Damned for thy false apostasy.<br /><br />Thomas Carew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-my-inconstant-mistress/
