Mary Wroth - 74

Love a childe is ever crying,
Please him, and he strait is flying;
Give him, he the more is craving,
Never satisfi'd with having.
His desires have no measure,
Endlesse folly is his treasure:
What he promiseth, he breaketh,
Trust not one word that he speaketh.
Hee vowes nothing but false matter,
And to cousen you hee'l flatter:
Let him gain the hand, hee'l leave you,
And still glory to deceive you.

Hee will triumph in your wailing,
And yet cause be of your failing:
these his vertues are, and slighter
are his guifts, his favours lighter.

Feathers are as firme in staying,
Wolves no fiercer in their praying.
As a child then leave him crying,
Nor seeke him so giv'n to flying

Mary Wroth

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/74-2/