[44.] Love the ripe harvest of my toyls
I
Love the ripe harvest of my toyls
Began to cherish with his smiles,
Preparing me to be indu'd
With all the Joys I long persu'd;
When my fresh hopes, fair and full blown,
Death blasts ere I could ca I my own.
II
Malicious Death, why with rude force
Dost thou my Fair from me divorce?
False life why in this loathen chain
Me from my Fair dost thou detain:
In whom assistance shall I find,
Alike are Life and Death unkind.
III
Pardon me Love, thy power outshines
And laughs at their infirm designes;
She is not wedded to atoombe,
Nor I to sorrow in her Room:
They what thou joynst' can ne'r divide,
She lives in me, in her I dy'd,