The Forsaken Wife
Elizabeth Thomas
1675 to 1731
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Methinks, ’tis strange you can’t afford
One pitying look, parting word;
Humanity claims this as due,
But what’s to you?
Cruel man! I am not blind,
Your I find;
Your want of love my ruin shows,
broken heart, your broken vows.
Yet maugre all your hate,
I will be true in spite of fate;
one preeminence I’ll claim,
To be for ever still same.
Show me a man that dare be true,
dares to suffer what I do;
That can for sigh unheard,
And ever love without regard:
I then own your prior claim
To love, to honour, and fame;
But till that time, my dear, adieu,
I superior am to you.