University of Virginia Library


51

A SONG.

Made to a French Tune.

On Racks of Love distended
Here lies a faithful Swain,
Wishing his Life were ended,
Or some Respite to his pain.
The plague of dubious Fate
Is an Ill beyond enduring,
If I am not worth your curing,
Kill me quickly with your Hate.
But why should Wit and Beauty
Be guilty of such Crimes?
Sure 'tis a Womans Duty
To be merciful sometimes.

52

With Justice you may slay
The ungrateful, and aspiring;
But the Humble, and Admiring,
You should treat a nobler way.