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SONG
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.
I
Evadne, I must tell you so,
You are too cruel grown;
No smiles nor pity you bestow,
But Death in ev'ry frown.
My Love, though chast and constant too,
Yet no relief can find;
Curst be the Slave that's false to you,
Though you are still unkind.
II
Were you as merciful as fair,
My wishes wou'd obtain;
But love I must, though I despair,
And perish in the pain.
If in an Age I can prevail,
I happy then shall be;
And cou'd I live, I wou'd not fail
To wait Eternally.
