When thou, poore excommunicate 
From all the joyes of love, shalt see 
The full reward, and glorious fate, 
Which my strong faith shall purchase me, 
Then curse thine owne inconstancy.

A fayrer hand than thine, shall cure 
That heart, which thy false oathes did wound; 
And to my soul, a soul more pure 
Than thine, shall by Loves hand be bound, 
And both with equall glory crown'd.

Then shalt thou weepe, entreat, complain 
To Love, as I did once to thee; 
When all thy teares shall be as vain 
As mine were then, for thou shalt bee 
Damn'd for thy false Apostasie.