To Myrrha, Hard-hearted

Fold now thine arms and hang the head,Like to a lily withered;Next look thou like a sickly moon,Or like Jocasta in a swoon;Then weep and sigh and softly go,Like to a widow drown'd in woe,Or like a virgin full of ruthFor the lost sweetheart of her youth;And all because, fair maid, thou artInsensible of all my smart,And of those evil days that beNow posting on to punish thee.The gods are easy, and condemnAll such as are not soft like them.