 | Poems and Songs |  |
106
The Fatigue.
A SONG.
Adieu fond World, and all thy Wiles,Thy haughty frowns, and treacherous smiles,
They that behold thee with my eyes,
Thy double dealing will despise:
From thee, false World, my deadly Foe,
Into some Desart let me go;
Some gloomy melancholy Cave,
Dark and silent as the Grave,
Let me withdraw; where I may be
From thine impertinencies free:
There when I hear the Turtle grone,
How sweetly would I make my mone!
Kind Philomel would teach me there
My sorrows pleasantly to bear:
107
But Heaven, and my own breast alone?
| Poems and Songs | |