Time only cause of my unrest,
By whom I hop’d once to be blest,
How cruell art thou turn’d?
That first gau’st lyfe unto my love,
And still a pleasure not to move,
Or change, though ever burn’d.
Haue I thee slack’d, or left undone
One loving rite, and so have wonne,
Thy rage, or bitter changing?
That now noe minutes I shall see,
Wherein I may least happy be,
Thy favours so estranging.
Blame thy selfe, and not my folly,
Time gave time but to be holy,
True Love, such ends best loveth:
Unworthy Love doth seeke for ends,
A worthy Love but worth pretends;
Nor other thoughts it proveth.
(Mary Wroth)
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