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Title: To His Rival
Author: Michael Drayton [
More Titles by Drayton]
Her loved I most,
By thee that's lost,
Though she were won with leisure;
She was my gain,
But to my pain,
Thou spoilest me of my Treasure.
The Ship full fraught
With Gold, far sought,
Though ne'r so wisely helmed,
May suffer wrack
In sailing back,
By Tempest over-whelmed.
But she, good Sir,
Did not prefer
You, for that I was ranging;
But for that she
Found faith in me,
And she loved to be changing.
Therefore boast not
Your happy Lot,
Be silent now you have her;
The time I knew
She slighted you,
When I was in her favour.
None stands so fast,
But may be cast
By Fortune, and disgraced:
Once did I wear
Her Garter there,
Where you her Glove have placed.
I had the Vow
That thou hast now,
And Glances to discover
Her Love to me,
And she to thee
Reads but old Lessons over.
She hath no Smile
That can beguile,
But as my Thought I know it;
Yea, to a Hair,
Both when and where,
And how she will bestow it.
What now is thine,
Was only mine,
And first to me was given;
Thou laugh'st at me,
I laugh at thee,
And thus we two are even.
But I'll not mourn,
But stay my Turn,
The Wind may come about, Sir,
And once again
May bring me in,
And help to bear you out, Sir.
[The end]
Michael Drayton's poem: To His Rival
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