John Dryden (1631–1700)

FAREWELL, ungrateful traitor!

Farewell, my perjured swain

Let never injured creature

Believe a man again.

The pleasure of possessing

Surpasses all expressing,

But ’tis too short a blessing,

And love too long a pain.

’Tis easy to deceive us,

In pity of your pain;

But when we love, you leave us

To rail at you in vain.

Before we have descried it,

There is no bliss beside it,

But she, that once has tried it,

Will never love again.

The passion you pretended,

Was only to obtain;

But when the charm is ended,

The charmer you disdain.

Your love by ours we measure,

Till we have lost our treasure;

But dying is a pleasure

When living is a pain.