Poem by Robert Ayton

To His Forsaken Mistress

I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair. 
	And I might have gone near to love thee, 
Had I not found the slightest prayer
	That lips could move, had power to move thee; 
But I can let thee now alone 
As worthy to be loved by none.
 
I do confess thou’rt sweet; yet find
	Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
Thy favours are but like the wind
	That kisseth everything it meets:
And since thou canst with more than one, 
Thou’rt worthy to be kiss’d by none.

The morning rose that untouch’d stands 
	Arm’d with her briers, how sweet she smell
But pluck’d and strain’d through ruder hands, 
	Her sweets no longer with her dwells:
But scent and beauty both are gone,
And leaves fall from her, one by one.

Such fate ere long will thee betide
	When thou hast handled been awhile,
With sere flowers to be thrown aside; 
	And I shall sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love to every one
Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

1. To an Unconstant One
2. Old-Long-Syne

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