 | Poems, Songs and Love-Verses |  |
66
A Song.
Fair
Clelia, didst thou know
How great a sorrow in my Breast does flow,
Thou couldst not be
Cruel to me,
Nor think it any gain
To mock my Sorrow, and deride my Pain.
How great a sorrow in my Breast does flow,
Thou couldst not be
Cruel to me,
Nor think it any gain
To mock my Sorrow, and deride my Pain.
Far be it yet from me
To hope for Life that is disdain'd by thee;
For if I thought
There might be ought
In me, that thou dost hate,
I'd Court my Ruin, and I'd hug my Fate.
To hope for Life that is disdain'd by thee;
For if I thought
There might be ought
In me, that thou dost hate,
I'd Court my Ruin, and I'd hug my Fate.
But if thou dost desire
T'augment my grief, and so increase my Fire,
Let me but know
Thy pleasure's so;
For I am so much thine,
As ne're to speak, exclaim, or once repine.
T'augment my grief, and so increase my Fire,
Let me but know
Thy pleasure's so;
For I am so much thine,
As ne're to speak, exclaim, or once repine.
| Poems, Songs and Love-Verses | |