 | Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies |  |
109
PHILLIS Complaint.
Why was I born,Or not born blind?
Though thence the scorn
Of whol mankind,
Their Pity, or Wonder;
That so I'd Womans Shape nere known;
Or seeing, had I mist but one,
But Thine alone;
We only kept asunder:
O then kinde Heavens you had blest
A Soul of Anguish,
That's now condemn'd to sad unrest
And endlesly must languish.
Yet check my Heart, no more
These Plaints give ore:
Since thou hadst rather die, through her rejection
Then not have seen so rare perfection
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