RYTHEE now, fond fool, give o'er; Since my heart is gone before,
To what purpose should I stay ? Love commands another way.
Perjur'd swain, I knew the time When dissembling was your crime, In pity now employ that art,
Which first betray'd, to ease my heart.
STREPHON.
Women can with pleasure feign: Men dissemble still with pain.
Love, like other little boys, Cries for hearts, as they for toys: Which when gain'd, in childish play,
Wantonly are thrown away.
Still on wing, or on his knees, Love does nothing by degrees: Basely flying when most priz'd, Meanly fawning when despis'd. Flattering or insulting ever, Generous and grateful never : All his joys are fleeting dreams, All his woes severe extremes.
STREPHON.
Nymph, unjustly you inveigh; Love, like us, must Fate obey. Since 'tis Nature's law to change, Constancy alone is strange. See the heavens in lightnings break, Next in storms of thunder speak; Till a kind rain from above
Makes a calm---so 'tis in love.
Flames begin our first address, Like meeting thunder we embrace : Then, you know, the showers that fall Quench the fire, and quiet all.
How should I the showers forget ? 'Twas so pleasant to be wet ! They kill'd love, I knew it well. I dy'd all the while they fell. Say at least what nymph it is, Robs my breast of so much bliss ? If she 's fair, I shall be eas'd, Through my ruin you 'll be pleas'd.
STREPHON.
Daphne never was so fair, Strephon, scarcely, fo fincere. Gentle, innocent, and free, Ever pleas'd with only me. Many charms my heart enthral, But there's one above them all :
With aversion, she does fly Tedious, trading, constancy.
Cruel shepherd! I submit, Do what love and you think fit : Change is fate, and not design. Say you would have still been mine.
Nymph, I cannot: 'tis too true, Change has greater charms than you.
Be,
Be, by my example, wife;
Faith to pleasure sacrifice.
DAPHΝΕ.
Silly swain, I'll have you know, 'Twas my practice long ago: Whilst you vainly thought me true, I was false, in scorn of you. By my tears, my heart's disguise, I thy love and thee despise. Womankind more joy discovers Making fools, than keeping lovers.
Written at the Bath in the Year 1674.
'HERE sighs not on the plain So loft a swain as I;
Scorch'd up with love, froze with disdain,
Of killing fweetness I complain.
STREPHON.
If 'tis Corinna, die.
Since first my dazzled eyes were thrown
On that bewitching face,
Like ruin'd birds robb'd of their young,
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