Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts
O Ye blest Pow'rs, propitious be
Unto my growing Love!
None can create my Misery,
If Cloe but constant prove.
Tell her if that she pity me,
From her you'll ne'er remove.
Each Brize of Air, my groans shall bear,
Unto her gentle Breast;
Silently whisp'ring in her Ear,
I never can be blest;
If she refuse to be my Dear,
I never can have rest.
Ye Groves, that hear each day my grief,
Bear witness of my pain;
Page 138Tell her I dye, if no relief
I from her Pow'r can gain;
Tell her, ah, tell that pretty Thief,
I dye through her disdain.
Likely she may with piteous Eyes,
When dead, my Hearse survey;
And when my Soul 'mongst Deities
Doth melt in Sweets away,
Then may she curse those Victories
That did my Heart betray.