Mary Wroth
My heart is lost, what can I now expect,
An evening fair after a drowsy day?
Alas fond fancy, this is not the way
To cure a mourning hurt, or salve neglect,
They who should help, do me, and help reject,
Embracing loose desires, and wanton play,
While Venus ‘s base delights do bear the sway,
And impudency reigns without respect;
O Cupid, let they mother know her shame
'Tis time for her to leave this youthful flame
Which doth dishonour her, is age's blame,
And takes away the greatness of thy name;
Thou God of love, she only Queen of lust,
Yet strives by weakening thee, to bee unjust.