 | Poems on several occasions |  |
138
Love and Jealousy,
A SONNET.
Tho' cruel you seem to my Pain,
And hate me because I am true,
Yet Phillis! you love a false Swain,
Who has other Nymphs in his View:
Enjoyment's a Trifle to him,
To me what a Heav'n would it be.
To him but a Woman you seem,
But ah, you're an Angel to me.
And hate me because I am true,
Yet Phillis! you love a false Swain,
Who has other Nymphs in his View:
Enjoyment's a Trifle to him,
To me what a Heav'n would it be.
To him but a Woman you seem,
But ah, you're an Angel to me.
139
Those Lips, which he touches in haste,
To them I for ever could grow;
Still clinging around that dear Waste,
Which he spans as beside him you go.
That Hand, like a Lilly so white,
Which over his Shoulders you lay,
My Bosom could warm it all Night,
My Lips they could press it all day.
To them I for ever could grow;
Still clinging around that dear Waste,
Which he spans as beside him you go.
That Hand, like a Lilly so white,
Which over his Shoulders you lay,
My Bosom could warm it all Night,
My Lips they could press it all day.
Were I like a Monarch to reign,
Were Graces my Subjects to be,
I'd leave them, and fly to the Plain,
To dwell in a Cottage with thee.
But, if I must feel your Disdain,
If Tears cannot Cruelty drown,
Oh let me not live in this Pain!
But give me my Death in a Frown.
Were Graces my Subjects to be,
I'd leave them, and fly to the Plain,
To dwell in a Cottage with thee.
But, if I must feel your Disdain,
If Tears cannot Cruelty drown,
Oh let me not live in this Pain!
But give me my Death in a Frown.
| Poems on several occasions | |