PIeasures, farewell, and all ye thriftle...

PIeasures, farewell, and all ye thriftless minutes

Wherein false joys have spun a weary life.

To these my fortunes now I take my leave.

Thou, precious Time, that swiftly rid'st in post

Over the world, to finish up the race

Of my last fate, here stay thy restless course,

And hear to ages that are yet unborn

A wretched, woeful woman's tragedy.

My conscience now stands up against my lust

With depositions charactered in guilt,

And tells me I am lost: now I confess

Beauty that clothes the outside of the face

Is cursèd if it be not clothed with grace.

Here like a turtle (mewed up in a cage)

Unmated, I converse with air and walls,

And descant on my vile unhappiness.

O Giovanni, that hast had the spoil

Of thine own virtues and my modest fame,

Would thou hadst been less subject to those stars

That luckless reigned at my nativity:

O would the scourge due to my black offence

Might pass from thee, that I alone might feel

The torment of an uncontrolled flame.

That man, that blessed friar,

Who joined in ceremonial knot my hand

To him whose wife I now am, told me oft

I trod the path to death, and showed me how.

But they who sleep in lethargies of lust

Hug their confusion, making Heaven unjust,

And so did I.

Forgive me, my good genius, and this once

Be helpful to my ends. Let some good man

Pass this way, to whose trust I may commit

This paper double-lined with tears and blood:

Which being granted, here I sadly vow

Repentance, and a leaving of that life

I long have died in.

Ford, John. Tis Pity She’s a Whore. http://www.johnwebster.galeon.com/writersworks/pity/act5.1pity.htm

Read the full text of 'Tis Pity She's a Whore here at Galeon.com