For thou may'st say, 'twas not thy fault That thou didst thus inconstant prove, Being by my example taught To break thy oath, to mend thy love. No, Chloris, no! I will return, And raise thy story to that height, That strangers shall at distance burn, And she distrust me reprobate. Then shall my love this doubt displace Of Sylvia. OUR sighs are heard; just heaven declares Sylvia, the fair, while she was kind, So when the sky makes us endure Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame, Hiding from Flavia's self her name; Lest she, provoking heaven, should prove How it rewards neglected love. Better a thousand such as I, Their grief untold, should pine and die, Than her bright morning, overcast With sullen clouds, should be defac'd. Of Love. ANGER in hasty words or blows And sorrow, too, finds some relief In tears, which wait upon our grief. So every passion, but fond love, Unto its own redress does move: But that alone the wretch inclines To what prevents his own designs; Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep, Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep; Postures which render him despis'd, Where he endeavours to be priz’d. For, women, born to be controll'd, Stoop to the forward and the bold, Affect the haughty and the proud, Unwisely we the wiser east Behold as many gallants here Whilst her high pride does scarce descend Or humbler slaves, he had not seen. All this with indignation spoke, Of mighty Love: that conquering look, So the tall stag, upon the brink With shame remembers that he fled Go, lovely Rose ! SONG. Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That, hadst thou sprung In desarts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retir'd: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desir'd, And not blush so to be admir'd. Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair! To Phillis. PHILLIS, why should we delay Pleasures shorter than the day? Could we (which we never can) Stretch our lives beyond their span, |