Sir John Suckling
1609 - 1642

Love Turned to Hatred

I will not love one minute more, I swear,
No, not a minute; not a sigh or tear
Thou get's from me, or one kind look again,
Though thou shouldst court me to 't and wouldst begin.
I will not think of thee but as men do
Of debts and sins, and then I'll curse thee too:
For thy sake woman shall be now to me
Less welcome, than at midnight ghosts shall be:
I'll hate so perfectly, that it shall be
Treason to love that man that loves a she;
Nay, I will hate the very good, I swear,
That's in thy sex, because it doth lie there;
Their virtue, grace, discourse, and wit,
And all for thee; what, wilt thou love me yet?