A Cruel Mistress

We read of kings and gods that kindly took

A pitcher fill'd with water from the brook ;

But I have daily tender'd without thanks

Rivers of tears that overflow their banks.

A slaughter'd bull will appease angry Jove,

A horse the Sun, a lamb the god of love,

But she disdains the spotless sacrifice

Of a pure heart, that at her altar lies.

Vesta is not displeased, if her chaste urn

Do with repaired fuel ever burn ;

But my saint frowns, though to her honour'd name

I consecrate a never-dying flame.

Th' Assyrian king did none i' th' furnace throw

But those that to his image did not bow ;

With bended knees I daily worship her,

Yet she consumes her own idolater.

Of such a goddess no times leave record,

That burnt the temple where she was adored.