 | Poems, Songs and Love-Verses |  |
To Clelia.
Think not, fair Madam, that your high disdain,Which wounds my Heart, shall cause me to sustain
The pond'rous bulk of all your Tyranny,
And the Insulting Conquest of your Eye.
Against your scorns I'le arme my panting Heart,
Secure from wound, and safe in every Part;
Biding defiance to your Conq'ring Eyes,
I'l give you no more leave to Tyrannise.
Yet if at last no Remedy I find
To ease the troubles of my tortur'd Mind,
And with despair must yield to Fate, my Breath
Shall censure you the Agent of my Death:
Then you that are the cause of this my fate
Shall mourn and grieve like one that's desolate,
And on my Hearse engrave my Tragedy,
With Tears proceeding from your doleful Eye.
Yet have a care, for if a Tear should steal
And touch my Corps, I instantly should feel
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'Twou'd wake my drowsie Senses from their rest.
Me tamen urit amor, quis enim modus adsit amori.
| Poems, Songs and Love-Verses | |