To My Inconstant Mistress - by Thomas Carew

When thou, poor excommunicate

From all the joys of love, shalt see

The full reward and glorious fate

Which my strong faith shall purchase me,

Then curse thine own inconstancy.

A fairer hand than thine shall cure

That heart, which thy false oaths did wound;

And to my soul, a soul more pure

Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound,

And both with equal glory crowned.

Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain

To Love, as I did once to thee;

When all thy tears shall be as vain

As mine were then, for thou shalt be

Damned for thy false apostasy.