Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ||
48
Abstemia to Her importunate Lover.
1
I never was in Love,Nor will be for my part,
I never felt the Archer move,
Alas, he has no Dart
Or else, no eyes to hit my Heart.
2
And yet doth love I vowIn this my Bosom reign,
But I protest, 'tis not with You,
Pardon me (Sir) I tell You plain,
'Tis with Diana's Maiden train.
3
And, though I lend an ear,When You present Your ditty,
Presume not, I affect your gear,
Or You that would seem witty,
Good faith, 'tis not in love, but pitty.
49
4
Hence then poor FlatterersI am, and will be free
Like those Cœlestial Choristers,
I'le hug my Liberty,
'Tis that, and only that, please me.
Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ||