To My Inconstant Mistress

When thou, poor excommunicat e        From all the joys of love, shalt see    The full reward and glorious fate        Which my strong faith shall purchase me,        Then curse thine own inconstancy.     A fairer hand than thine shall cure        That heart, which thy false oaths did wound;    And to my soul, a soul more pure        Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound,      And both with equal glory crown'd.  Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain      To Love, as I did once to thee;  When all thy tears shall be as vain      As mine were then, for thou shalt be      Damn'd for thy false apostasy.