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Rolling eye, and lip of ruby,
Ever rob me of my rest :

Go, go, display

Thy beauty's ray To some more-soon-enamour'd swain :

Those forced wiles

Of sights and smiles,
Are all bestow'd on me in vain.


I have elsewhere vow'd a duty;

Turn away thy tempting eye: Shew not me thy painted beauty, These impostures I defy :

My spirit loaths

Where gaudy cloaths, And feigned oaths, may love obtain:

I love her so,

Whose look swears no;
That all thy labour will be vain.

Can he prize the tainted posies

Which on others breast are worn,
That may pluck the virgin roses
From the never-touched thorn ?

I can go rest
On her sweet breast,

That is the pride of Cynthia's train :

Then stay thy tongue,

Thy mermaid song
Is all bestow'd on me in vain.

He's a fool that basely dallies

Where each peasant mates with him. Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, Whilst there's noble hills to climb ?

No, no; though clowns

Are scar'd with frowns,
I know the best can but disdain :

And those I'll prove,

So will thy love
Be all bestow'd on me in vain. -

I do scorn to vow a duty,

Where each lustful lad may woo: Give me her, whose sun-like beauty Buzzards dare not soar unto:

She, she it is

Affords that bliss
For which I would refuse no pain :

But such as you,

Fond fools, adieu !
You seek to captive me in vain.-

Leave me then, thou Syren, leave me,

Seek no more to work my harms: Crafty wiles cannot deceive me; I am proof against your charms :

You labour may

To lead astray The heart that constant shall remain;

And I the while

Will sit and smile To see you spend your time in vain.

The following Rhomboidal Dirge, is inserted on account of its


Ah me! Am I the swain, That late, from sorrow free, Did all the cares on earth disdain ? And still untouch'd, as at some safer games, Play'd with the burning coals of love and beauty's flames? Was't I, could dive, and sound each passion's secret depth at will, And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise by help of reason still ? And am I now, O heavens ! for trying this in vain, So sunk, that I shall never rise again? Then, let despair set sorrow's string For strains that doleful'st be, And I will sing

Ah me!

But why,

O fatal time,

Dost thou constrain, that I
Should perish in my youth's sweet prime?

I, but a while ago, you cruel powers !
In spite of fortune cropt contentment's sweetest flowers;
And yet, unscorned, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she
That ever was belov’d of man, or eyes did ever see.
Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress,

Yet I, poor I, must perish ne'ertheless;
And, which much more augments my care,

Unmoaned I must die,

And no man e'er

Know why!

Thy leave,
My dying song,
Yet take, ere grief bereave
The breath which I enjoy too long.
Tell thou that fair one this; my soul prefers
Her love above my life: and that I died hers.
And let him be for evermore to her remembrance dear,
Who lov'd the very thought of her, whilst he remained here.
And now farewell, thou place of my unhappy birth,
Where once I breath'd the sweetest air on earth.

Since me my wonted joys forsake,
And all my trust deceive,

Of all I take
My leave.

Sweet groves, to you!
You hills that highest dwell,
And all you humble vales adieu!
You wanton brooks, and solitary rocks ;

My dear companions all, and you my tender flocks ! Farewel, my pipe! and all those pleasing songs, whose moving strains Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains.

You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart
Have, without pity, broke the truest heart,
Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy,
That erst did with me dwell,

And others joy,

Farewell !

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