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Let not their oaths, like vollies shot,
make any breach at all.
Nor smoothness of their language plot
which way to scale the wall;
Nor balls of wild-fire love consume
The shrine which I adore:
For if such smoke about thee fume,
I’ll never love thee more.
I think thy virtues be too strong
to suffer by surprise;
Which victualled by love so long,
the siege at length must rise,
And leave thee ruled in that health
and state thou wert before:
But if thou turn a Commonwealth,
I'll never love thee more.
But if by fraud, or by consent,
thy heart to ruin come.
I’ll sound no trumpet, as I wont,
nor march by tuck of drum;
But hold my arms, like ensigns, up,
thy falsehood to deplore,
And bitterly will sigh and weep,
