University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
Lyric Poems

Made in Imitation of the Italians. Of which, many are Translations From other Languages ... By Philip Ayres

collapse section
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The TROPHY.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


152

The TROPHY.

Now, now, my Heart's my own again,
The Vict'ry's won, no more I'll grieve;
My Mind's at Peace, 'tis eas'd of Pain
And now I shall with Pleasure live.
Lovers from your IDOL fly,
He's the common ENEMY;
Let him flatter, let him smile,
All his Drifts are to beguile;
His Poison he distills,
By cunning ARTS,
Into our HEARTS,
And then with torment kills;
Trust not his deluding FACE,
Dang'rous is his kind Embrace;
Believe not what you hear or see,
For He's made up of TREACHERY;
Nor be by TRICKS into his Ambush charm'd,
The more He naked seems, the more He's arm'd.