Classic Poem

And where in Letters by thee pen'd,
(Which but of late thou didst mee send)
Protesting that all is untrue,
And hast not changed for a new,
Acknowledging my Courtesies
Done unto thee in sundry wise;
And that I still shall thee command,
And at my pleasure thou wilt stand;
That thou'lt for my sake live and dye,
Before I shall thee (false) espie,
 (As though thy Falsenesse I not view,
 By Willow-Garland bound with Rew.)

And more, my Tokens all and some,
(If Ile but let thee to mee come)
Thou wilt restore, that I may heare
How justly thou thy selfe canst cleare;
With such like stuffe, which thou dost write,
(As flattering tongue can best endite)
To this I answere, that too oft,
For to beleeve thee I was brought:
Thy Feature sweet made me suppose,
Thou mean'dst but truth, and couldst not glose,
 Nor glose thou didst, till thou didst send
 The Willow-Garland to thy Friend.

Therefore I wish content thou be,
For never more Ile parle with thee,
Least that thy tongue, taught well to fayne,
Bring me a new to my old vayne:
Those things thou hast, still maist thou have,
Backe to returne them I not crave,
Make much of them, thou get'st no more,
And thanke thy wavering minde therefore.
No Gold for thee too deare had beene,
If thee (not faultlesse) I had seene,
 The Willow-Garland is the cause,
 My constant Minde from thee it drawes.

And where to witnesse thou dost call,
Of thy true Faith, the Heavens all,
I tell thee (Dame) the Lasse that I
Shall like for my choyse Company,
Shall not (alone) right honest be,
But from Suspition cleare and free,
That none may finde with her a Fault,
No not so much as once to halt.
And since I paid for thee, alone,
Why should'st not thou be all mine owne?
 Ile have no sharers in this thing,
 Though Willow-Garland doth me wring.

And for I may all snares with-stand,
I meane to leave my native Land,
In th'INDIAN Voyage one Ile make,
A desperate Course Ile under-take;
The GOLDEN COUNTRY I will see,
Ere home I come it long shall be:
My Lands and Living I must leave,
My Friends and Kinne, which doth mee grieve.
See (cruell Wench) the cause thou art,
That from my sweetest Soyle I part:
 And since it must, it shall be so,
 Such Fruit on Willow-Garlands grow.

My Country ENGLAND, fare thou well,
And lovely F. where I did dwell:
Deare Mother, I you bid Adiew,
Full little thinke you what Ile doe,
Full little thinke you what your Sonne
Through youthfull Folly now hath done:
My Sisters sweet, my Brethren all,
I wish you well, fayre yee befall:
My Friends and Quaintance every one,
Adiew to you, I must be gone;
 My Ship from others you may know,
 The Willow-Garland it doth show.

And last Farewell the ficklest Dame,
That nature ere alive did frame:
Would not thy face had beene so fayre,
Or of thine Honour t'hadst more care.
Farewell the Toyes and rare Delights,
Which oft renew'd my dulled Sprights:
Farewell thy Amours honey sweet,
Thy sugred Joyes which I did like;
But they were false, and thou untrue,
Wherefore to thee and them adiew:
 Adiew, which wast the woman first,
 That mee with Willow-Garland curst.

Farewell thou false disloyall Dame,
Of Womanhood the spot and staine,
Thou Weather-cocke, thou Cockatrise,
Thou slippery Ele, thou cheating Dice,
Thou painted Sheath, thou Changling right,
Thou subtile Eve , thou ranging Spright,
Thou Syren false, thou poyson sweet,
Thou stinging Adder, Lyon meeke,
Thou fretting Canker, honey Gall,
Ill fall to thee, and to such all,
 Since when Men well of you deserve,
 With Willow-Garland you them serve.

Farewell to thee, nay, fare thou ill,
Which dost with Hate, requite Good-will,
Thou Bodies Foe, thou Harts Annoy,
Thou Cause of pleasure rare and joy,
Thou dying Sickenesse of the minde,
Thou short Delight, like to the Winde,
Thou Fountaine full of all unrest,
Of deadly Griefe thou hollow Chest.
Thou Gulph of Guile, thou Pit of Paine,
With whom still sorrow doth remaine,
 Who mak'st me sadly so to walke,
 With Willow-Garlands abject stalke.