Poems, with The tenth Satyre of Iuvenal Englished | ||
15
Song.
[Amyntas goe, thou art undone]
Amyntas goe, thou art undone,Thy faithfull heart is crost by fate;
That Love is better not begunne,
Where Love is come to love too late;
Had she professed hidden fires,
Or shew'd one knot that tyed her heart:
I could have quench'd my first desires,
And we had only met to part;
But Tyrant, thus to murther men,
And shed a Lovers harmles bloud,
16
Which he at first might have withstood;
Yet, who that saw faire Chloris weep
Such sacred dew, with such pure grace;
Durst thinke them fained teares, or seeke
For Treason in an Angels face:
This is her Art, though this be true,
Mens joyes are kil'd with griefes and feares;
Yet she like flowers opprest with dew,
Doth thrive and flourish in her teares:
This Cruell thou hast done, and thus,
That Face hath many servants slaine.
Though th'end be not to ruine us,
But to seeke glory by our paine.
Poems, with The tenth Satyre of Iuvenal Englished | ||