ASK not, why forrow shades my brow;
'Nor why my fprightly looks decay:
Alas! what need I beauty now,
Since he that lov'd it, dy'd to day?
ye have ears, and yet not know
Mirtillo, brave Mirtillo's flain?
Can ye have eyes, and they not flow,
Or hearts, that do not share my pain?
He's gone! he's gone! and I will go;
For in my breaft fuch wars I have,
And thoughts of him perplex me fo,
That the whole world appears my grave.
But I'll go to him, tho' he be
Wrapt in the cold, cold arms of death: And under yon fad cypress-tree
I'll mourn, I'll mourn away my breath.
WHY fhou'd coy beauty be fo hard,
To be to joy perfuaded?
Why fo perversely stand its guard,
By love and youth invaded?
Did ever dame against the knight,
Who came to her redreffing,
For the rude giant-jailer fight,
And help her own oppreffing?
Such honour is, the tender maid,
With rigid force restraining;
Love foon, with leave, wou'd lend his aid,
And end the tyrant's reigning.
But, the poor fool's fo taught to dread
Her friend, her foe to favour,
She thinks it ruin to be freed,
Protection to enflave her.
Be wife, ye fair, and keep not dead
Upon your hands your treasure;
The honeft lover does but plead
For a fair truck of pleasure;
Between the nymph and fwain, that join
In love, 'tis equal trading;
He gains the riches of her mine,
And the his veffel's lading.
LOVE thee, by heav'n; I cannot fay more;
Then fet not my paffion a cooling:
If thou yield't not at once, I must e'en give thee o'er;
For I'm but a rovice at fooling.
What my love wants in words,it fhall make up in deeds
Then why fhou'd we wafte time in ftuff, child?
A performance, you wot well, a promife exceeds;
And a word to the wife is enough, child.
I know how to love, and to make that love known;
But I hate all protesting and argueing:
Had a goddess my heart, fhe fhou'd e'en lie alone,
If fhe made many words to a bargain.
I'm a quaker in love, and but barely affirm
Whate'er my fond eyes have been saying;
Pry'thee be thou fo too, feek for no better term,
But e'en throw thy yea or thy nay in.
I cannot bear love, like a Chancery-fuit,
The age of a patriarch depending;
Then pluck up a fpirit, no longer be mute,
Give it, one way or other, an ending.
Long courtship's the vice of a phlegmatick fool;
Like the grace of fanatical finners,
Where the ftoniach's are loft, and the victuals grow
Before men fit down to their dinners.
HY do'st thou fay I am forfworn,
'Cause thine I vow'd to be?
Thou fee'it it is already morn;
And 'twas last night I promis'd thee
That fond impoffibility.
And I have lov'd thee much and long,
A tedious twelve hours space;
J fhou'd do other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a fresh embrace,
Shou'd I still doat upon thy face.
Not but all joys in thy brown hair
By others may be found;
But I must have the black and fair:
So for treasures fome do found
In altogether unknown ground,
But if, when I have rang'd my round,
Thou prov'ft the pleasant'st she,
With spoils of other beauties crown'd,
I laden will return to thee,
E'en fated with variety.
CARE SOCCE
ONE night, when all the village flept,
Myrtillo's fad despair
The wand'ring fhepherd waking kept,
To tell the woods his care:
Be gone, faid he, fond thoughts, be gone;
Eyes, give your forrows o'er:
Why fhou'd you wafte your tears for
That thinks on you no more?
Yet all the birds, the flocks, and powers,
That dwell within this grøve,
Can tell how many tender hours
We here have pass'd in love:
The ftars above (my cruel foes)
Have heard how fhe has fworn
A thousand times, that like to those
Her flame fhou'd ever burn.
But, fince he's loft, oh! let me have a
My wifh, and quickly die: ***
In this cold bank I'll make a grave,
And there for ever lie,
Sad nightingales the watch fhall keep,
And kindly here complain;
Then down the fhepherd lay to fleep,
And never wak'd again.
|