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Abstemia to Her importunate Lover.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


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 vow
In 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 Flatterers
I am, and will be free
Like those Cœlestial Choristers,
I'le hug my Liberty,
'Tis that, and only that, please me.