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Love, like spring-tides full and high,
Swells in ev'ry youthful vein: But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite shrink in again ; If a flow in age appear, 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.
CANNOT change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn : Since that poor swain that sighs for you, For you
alone was born, No, Phillis, no, your heart to move A surer
way And to revenge my slighted love,
Will still love on and die.
I'll try :
When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies;
And you to mind shall ca!!, The sighs that now unpitied rise,
The tears that vainly fall :
That welcome hour that ends this smart,
Will then begin your pain ; For such a faithful tender heart
Can never break in vain.
[Sir John SUCKLING.]
I PRITHEE send
my heart, Since I cannot have thine : For if from yours you will not part,
Why then should you have mine?
Yet, now I think on't, let it lie,
To find it were in vain :
Would steal it back again.
Why should two hearts in one breast lic,
And yet not lodge together?
If thus our breasts thou sever ?
But Love is such a mystery,
I cannot find it out:
I then am most in doubt.
Then farewell care, and farewell woe,
I will no longer pine:
As much as she has mine.
M y days have been so wondrous free,
The little birds that fly,
Were not so blest as I.
Ask gliding waters, if a tear
Of mine encreas'd their stream? Or ask the flying galos, if e'er
I lent a sigh to them.
But now my former days retire,
And I'm by beauty caught : The tender chains of sweet desire
Are fix'd upon my thought,
An eager hope within my breast
Does ev'ry doubt controul ;
The mistress of my soul.
Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines,
Ye swains that haunt the grove,
Ye close retreats of Love ;
With all of nature, all of art,
Assist the dear design,
To make her ever mine.
The very thought of change I hate,
As much as of despair,
Unless it be for her.
'Tis true, the passion in my
I cannot wish at less.
If truth can fix thy wav'ring heart,
Let Damon urger his claim,
the constant flame.
Though sighing swains their torments tell,
Their sensual love contemn; They only prize the beauteous shell,
But slight the inward gem.
Possession cures the wounded heart,
Destroys the transient fire;
Enjoyment whets desire.
By age your beauty will decay,
Your mind improves with years ; As when the blossoms fade away,
The rip’ning fruit appears.
May heaven and Sylvia grant my suit,
And bless each future hour,
May gather ev'ry flower.