By Lady Mary Wroth.

My heart is lost, what can I now expect,

And evening fair after a drowsy day?
Alas, fond Phant'sie, this is not the way,
To cure a mourning heart, or salve neglect:

They who should help, do me, and help reject,

Embracing loose desires, and wanton play,
While wanton base delights, do bear the sway,
And impudency raigns without respect.

O Cupid let thy Mother know her shame,

'Tis time for her to leave this youthful flame
Which doth dishonour her, is ages blame,
And takes away the greatness of thy name.

Thou God of Love, she only Queen of lust,
Yet strives by weakening thee, to be unjust.

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