Why should a foolish marriage vow,
Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now
When passion is decay'd?
We lov'd, and we lov'd, as long as we
could,
Till our love was lov'd out in us
both:
But our marriage is dead, when the
pleasure is fled:
'Twas pleasure first made it an oath.
If I have pleasures for a friend,
And farther love in store,
What wrong has he whose joys did end,
And who could give no more?
'Tis a madness that he should be
jealous of me,
Or that I should bar him of another:
For all we can gain is to give our
selves pain,
When neither can hinder the other.
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