O Faithless World, & thy more faithless part, a Woman's heart! <br />The true Shop of variety, where sits nothing but fits <br />And feavers of desire, and pangs of love, which toyes remove. <br />Why, was she born to please, or I to trust, words writ in dust? <br />Suffering her Eyes to govern my despair, my pain for air; <br />And fruit of time rewarded with untruth, the food of youth. <br />Untrue she was : yet, I believ'd her eyes (instructed spies) <br />Till I was taught, that Love was but a School to breed a fool. <br />Or sought she more by triumphs of denial, to make a trial <br />How far her smiles commanded my weakness? yield and confess, <br />Excuse no more thy folly; but for Cure, blush and endure <br />As well thy shame, as passions that were vain: and think, 'tis gain <br />To know, that Love lodg'd in a Womans brest, Is but a guest.<br /><br />Sir Henry Wotton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poem-written-by-sir-henry-wotton-in-his-youth/
