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As doth the turtle, chaste and true,
her fellow’s death regret,
And daily mourns for his adieu,
and ne’er renews her mate;
So, tho’ thy faith was never fast,
which grieves me wond’rous sore,
Yet I shall live in love so chaste,
that I shall love no more.
And when all gallants ride about
this monument to view,
Whereon is written in and out,
“Thou traiterous and untrue!”
Then in a passion they shall pause,
and thus say, sighing sore,
Alas! he had too just a cause
never to love thee more.
And when that tracing goddess, Fame,
from east to west shall flee,
She shall record it to thy shame,
how thou hast loved me!
And how in odds our love was such,
as few has been before;
Thou lov’d too many, I too much,
that I can love no more.
