University of Virginia Library

Weep, weep, Lysander, for the lovely Maid,
To whom thy sacred Vows were paid,
Regardless of thy Love, thy Youth, and Vows,
The dull Advice of Honour now pursues.
O say, my lovely Charmer, where
Is all that Softness gone,
Your tender Voice and Eyes did wear,
When first I was undone?
Where is the killing Language of thy Tongue,
That did my ravish'd Soul surprize?
Where is the tender Rhet'rick gone,
That flow'd so softly in thy Eyes?
Why, why did I not Hymen's Priests obey,
And for the Marriage-Ceremonies stay?
Tho' 'twas the farthest, 'twas the safest Way.
Why did I not her Humour better prove,
And watch the softest Minute of her Love?
All's fled with Honour, on a Phantom lost,
Where Youth's vast Store must perish unpossest.
Ah! why was I so forward in my Love?
Why did I with such Haste to Ruin move?
I should have mark'd the Twinklings of her Eyes,
And read her am'rous Thoughts in that Disguise;
Watch'd ev'ry Glance, 'till of Success secure,
And not attempted 'till I had been sure.
I should have us'd more soft and pleasing Words,
Which Eloquence, inspir'd by Love, affords;
Such Words, as her young Fancy might deceive,
And strictest Virtue could not but believe,
Before the fatal Question I propos'd,
And in her Ear the am'rous Tale disclos'd.
But my too eager Passion I pursue,
And what rash Love, not Reason bad me, do;
In one sad Minute all my Bliss destroy,
And put a final Period to my Joy:
For those dear Charms, which I so much adore,
My wretched Eyes are charg'd to see no more.
Thou God of Love, thy Loss with me bemoan,
The lovely Fugitive's with Honour gone.