The Farewel.
SWeetest, know, did not controul
Sad Fortune, Fate my Steps this hour,
Thus to leave I had no power,
Parted as from mine own Soul:
Clouds thine Eye do seem assailing,
Gentlest Heart as griev'd with me;
Which sober Looks grand Honour be,
Prime Love-support; since Smiles prevailing
(Dear, I vow,
Of late) would scarce content me now.
II.
Yet, too solemn Change, o're sad
I fancy not, least that kind Trouble
Should increase my own Grief double:
Leave me then to th' mournful Shade
(Such thy Want (as 'twere) producing)
And with gentle Beam bedress
Those Orbs, though smaller Flamingness;
Still, like thy self, choice Sparks diffusing:
Though indeed
Worst Glances there may Pleasure breed.
III.
Wandring Ghost thy Servant shows,
This Vow made to my choicely esteemed
(Thoughts of her so precious deemed)
Night shall ne're these Eyes inclose,