To A Severe Damsel, On Not Going To Cowley

Call me not bastard, sweet, nor craven

That from deepest Cowley

Spurning thy bright, expansive haven

To Jericho I flee.


For no new mistress shall I chase,

Nor shall I chase at all,

But read and brood on book of face

And laze from brow to gall.


Do not censure my fickleness,

You too it should adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not comfort more.


(after Lovelace)