Tell me no more of constancy, <br />The frivolous pretense <br />Of old age, narrow jealousy, <br />Disease, and want of sense. <br /> <br />Let duller fools on whom kind chance <br />Some easy heart has thrown, <br />Despairing higher to advance, <br />Be kind to one alone. <br /> <br />Old men and weak, whose idle flame, <br />Their own defects discovers, <br />Since changing can but spread their shame, <br />Ought to be constant lovers, <br /> <br />But we, whose hearts do justly swell <br />With no vainglorious pride, <br />Who know how we in love excel, <br />Long to be often tried. <br /> <br />Then bring my bath and strew my bed, <br />As each kind night returns: <br />I'll change a mistress till I'm dead, <br />And fate change me for worms.<br /><br />Lord John Wilmot<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/against-constancy/
