By Lady Mary Wroth.
Except my heart, which you bestowed before,
And for a sign of Conquest gave away
As worthless to be kept in your choice store;
Yet one more spotless with you doth not stay.
The tribute which my heart doth truely pay,
Is faith untouch'd, pure thoughts discharge the score
Of debts for me, where constancy bears sway,
And rules as Lord, unharm'd by Envy's sore,
Yet other mischiefs fail not to attend,
As enemies to you, my foes must be,
Cursed Jealousy doth all her forces bend
To my undoing, thus my harms I see.
So though in love I fervently do burn,
In this strange Labyrinth how shall I turn?