I, unawares, my freedom gave, Love is a burthen, which two hearts, I'm not of those who court their pain, My hope in love does ne'er expire, But it extinguishes defire. Nor yet of those, who ill received, And, where their love could not prevail, Whoe'er would make his victor less Must his own weak defence confefs; And, while her power he does defame, He poorly doubles his own shame. Even that malice does betray, put out. He's ftill in torment, whom the rage In love, indiff'rence is the fure SONG. HEARS not my Phillis, how the birds Phillis, without frown or fmile, Sat and knotted all the while. The god of love, in thy bright eyes, Doth like a tyrant reign; But in thy heart, a child he lies, Without his dart or flame. Phillis, &c. So many months in filence past, And yet in raging love; Might well deferve one word at last, My paffion fhould approve. Phillis, &c. Muft then your faithful swain expire, And not one look obtain ; SONG. PHILLIS is my only joy, Faithlefs as the winds or feas; I am caft down, And beguiling, Makes me happier than before. Though, alas! too late I find She deceiving, I believing, What can lovers wish for more? SONG. WHAT fhall become of man fo wife When he dies? None can tell Whether he goes to heaven or hell; Or, after a few moments here, And at last Perish entirely like a beast? But women, wine, and mirth, we know, Let us then ply those joys we have, Of what the knaves invent. EDMUND WALLER. OF SYLVIA. OUR fighs are heard; juft Heav'n declares The fenfe it has of lovers' cares. She that fo far the rest outshin'd, Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame, Their grief untold, should pine and die, With fullen clouds, should be defac’d. |