By Edward Herbert
Thus ends my Love, but this doth grieve me most,
That so it ends, but that ends too, this yet,
Besides the Wishes, hopes and time I lost,
Troubles my mind awhile, that I am set
Free, worse then denied: I can neither boast
Choice nor success, as my Case is, nor get
Pardon from myself; that I loved not
A better Mistress, or her worse; this Debt
Only's her due, still that she be forgot
Ere chang'd, lest I love none; this done, the taint
Of foul Inconstancy is clear'd at least
In me, there only rests but to unpaint
Her form in my mind, that so dispossest
It be a Temple, but without a Saint.
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