Wednesday, 1 February 2012

A tirade against the female sex by the German baroque poet Theobald Hock

Put not too great a trust in love

I faithfully both night and day
Have served a pure, fine lady
So I her love but could repay
No effort I forbade me.

All other love, joy, gain, desire
Have I despised and banished,
Yea, worldly riches quite entire
For her alone let vanish.

No other thanks have been my lot,
Reward for toil’s relinquished.
Begad! Dismissal’s what I got,
And love is now extinguished.

With fervent hope my heart is filled
My love once more to conquer;
But now she lets what she has killed
Me courteously just long for.

It seems, if I may make so bold,
Ah, daughters fair of Eve you,
Great boast, small roast applies all told,
May Valentine believe you!

Who trusts your honeyed words so suave
Will find his labours wasted:
’Gainst wind he sows, he builds on wave,
As I such woes have tasted.

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