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SONG VI. The Complaint.

I

To me y'ave made a thousand Vows,
A thousand tender Things have said;
I gave you all that Love allows,
The naked Pleasure of the Bed.

II

Yet now my Eyes have lost their Charms,
Or you abate in your Desire:
You dream y'ave Cælia in your Arms,
And burn with an unhallow'd Fire.

9

III

Aloud you Name her in your Sleep;
Or if toward me y'are pleas'd to stir,
(A Kindness that but makes me weep)
'Tis only when you think of her.