# Duke of Montrose's garland, or, I'll never love thee more/Duke of Montrose's garland, or, I'll never love thee more

MONTROSE’S LINES.
My dear and only love, I pray that noble world of thee, Be govern’d by no other sway but purest monarchie; For if confusion have a part, which virtuous souls abhore, And hold a synod in thy heart, I’ll never love thee more.
Like Alexander I will reign, and I will reign alone; My thoughts shall evermore disdain a rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, or his deserts are small, That puts it not unto the touch, to win or lose it all.
But I must rule and govern still, and always give the law; And have each subject at my will, and all to stand in awe; But ’gainst my battery, if I find thou scorn’st the prize so sore, As that thou set'st me up a blind
Or in the empire of this heart, where I should solely be. Another do pretend a part, and dares to vie with me. Or if Committees thou erect, and go on such a score, I’ll sing and laugh at thy neglect, and never love thee more.
But if thou wilt be constant then, and faithful of thy word. I’ll make glorious by my pen, and famous by my sword! I'll serve thee in such noble ways, was never heard before! I’ll crown and deck thee all with bays, and love thee evermore.
PART II.
My dear and only love take heed, lest thou thyself expose; And let all longing lovers feed upon such looks as those: A marble wall then built about, beset without a door; But if thou let thy heart fly out,
​Let not their oaths, like vollies shot, make any breach at all. Nor smoothness of their language plot which way to scale the wall; Nor balls of wild-fire love consume The shrine which I adore: For if such smoke about thee fume, I’ll never love thee more.
I think thy virtues be too strong to suffer by surprise; Which victualled by love so long, the siege at length must rise, And leave thee ruled in that health and state thou wert before: But if thou turn a Commonwealth, I'll never love thee more.
But if by fraud, or by consent, thy heart to ruin come. I’ll sound no trumpet, as I wont, nor march by tuck of drum; But hold my arms, like ensigns, up, thy falsehood to deplore, And bitterly will sigh and weep,
​I’ll do with thee as Nero did, when Rome was set on fire, Not only all relief forbid, but to a hill retire. And scorn to shed a tear to see thy spirit grown so poor, But, smiling, sing until I die. I’ll never love thee more.
Yet, for the love I bore thee once, lest that thy name should die, A monument of marble-stone the truth shall testify, That every pilgrim passing by may pity and deplore My case, and read the reason why I can love thee no more.
The golden laws of love shall be upon this pillar hung; A simple heart, a single eye, a true and constant tongue: Let no man for more love pretend, than he has hearts in store; True love begun shall never end,
​Then shall thy heart be set by mine, but in far different case; For mine was true, so was not thine, but look’d like Janus’ face: For as the waves with every wind, so sails thou ev'ry shore, And leaves my constant heart behind, How can I love thee more?
My heart shall with the sun be fixt, For constancy most strange; And thine shall with the moon be mixt, delighting ay in change: Thy beauty shin’d at first most bright, and woe is me therefore, That e’er I found thy love so light, I could love thee no more.
The misty mountains, smoking lakes, the rock’s resounding echo! The whistling wind that murmur makes shall all with me sing hey-ho; The tossing seas, the tumbling boats, tears dropping from each shore, Shall tune with me their turtle-notes,
​As doth the turtle, chaste and true, her fellow’s death regret, And daily mourns for his adieu, and ne’er renews her mate; So, tho’ thy faith was never fast, which grieves me wond’rous sore, Yet I shall live in love so chaste, that I shall love no more.
And when all gallants ride about this monument to view, Whereon is written in and out, “Thou traiterous and untrue!” Then in a passion they shall pause, and thus say, sighing sore, Alas! he had too just a cause never to love thee more.
And when that tracing goddess, Fame, from east to west shall flee, She shall record it to thy shame, how thou hast loved me! And how in odds our love was such, as few has been before; Thou lov’d too many, I too much, that I can love no more.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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