by Fulke Greville
Cælica, when you look down into your heart,
And see what wrongs my faith endureth there,
Hearing the groans of true love, loath to part,
You think they witness of your changes bear.
And as the man that by ill neighbors dwells,
Whose curious eyes discern those works of shame,
Which busy rumor to these people tells,
Suffers for seeing those dark springs of fame.
So I, because I cannot choose but know
How constantly you have forgotten me,
Because my faith doth like the sea-marks show,
And tell the strangers where the dangers be,
I, like the child, whom nurse hath overthrown,
Not crying, yet am whipped, if you be known.