Satyre

Men write that love and reason disagree,But I ne'r saw't exprest as 'tis in thee.Well, I may lead thee, God must make thee see,But, thine eyes blinde too, there's no hope for thee.Thou say'st shee's wise and witty, faire and free,All these are reasons why she should scorne thee.Thou dost protest thy love, and wouldst it shewBy matching her as she would match her foe:And wouldst perswade her to a worse offence,Then that whereof thou didst accuse her wench.Reason there's none for thee, but thou may'st vexeHer with example. Say, for feare her sexeShunne her, she needs must change; I doe not seeHow reason e'r can bring that must to thee.Thou art a match a Iustice to rejoyce,Fit to be his, and not his daughters choyce.Urg'd with his threats shee'd scarcely stay with thee,And wouldst th'have this to chuse thee, being free?Goe then and punish some soone-gotten stuffe,For her dead husband this hath mourn'd enough,In hating thee. Thou maist one like this meet;For spight take her, prove kinde, make thy breath sweet,Let her see she hath cause, and to bring to theeHonest children, let her dishonest bee.If shee be a widow, I'll warrant herShee'll thee before her first husband preferre,And will wish thou hadst had her maidenhead;Shee'll love thee so, for then thou hadst bin dead.But thou such strong love, and weake reasons hast,Thou must thrive there, or ever live disgrac'd.Yet pause a while; and thou maist live to seeA time to come, wherein she may beg thee;If thou'lt not pause nor change, she'll beg thee now.Doe what she can, love for nothing shee'll allow.Besides, hers were too much gaine and merchandise,And when thou art rewarded, desert dies.Now thou hast odds of him she loves, he may doubtHer constancy, but none can put thee out.Againe, be thy love true, shee'll prove divine,And in the end the good on't will be thine:For thou must never think on other love,And so wilt advance her as high aboveVertue as cause above effect can bee:'Tis vertue to be chast, which shee'll make thee.