Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LOVE'S INGRATITUDE, by ABRAHAM COWLEY

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LOVE'S INGRATITUDE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: I little thought, thou fond ingratefull sinne
Last Line: That t'were rebellion now to claim mine owne.
Subject(s): Love - Complaints


I Little thought, thou fond ingratefull Sinne,
When first I let thee in,
And gave thee but a part
In my unwary Heart,
That thou wouldst ere have grown,
So false or strong to make it all thine owne.


At mine own brest with care I fed thee still,
Letting thee suck thy fill,
And daintily I nourisht Thee
With Idle thoughts and Poetrie!
What ill Returnes dost thou allow?
I fed thee then, and thou dost sterve me now.


There was a time, when thou wast cold and chill,
Nor hadst the power of doing ill;
Into my bosome did I take,
This frozen and benummed Snake,
Not fearing from it any harme,
But now it stings that breast that made it warme.


What cursed weed's this Love! but one grain sow
And the whole field 'twill over-grow;
Strait will it choak up and devour
Each wholesome herbe and beauteous flowre!
Nay unlesse something soon I doe,
T'will kill I fear my very Lawrell too.


But now all's gone, I now, alas, complain,
Declare, protest, and threat in vain.
Since by my owne unfore't consent,
The Traitour has my Government,
And is so setled in the Throne,
That t'were Rebellion now to claim mine owne.

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