 | The poems of John Wilmot: Earl of Rochester |  |
Song.
[Phillis, be gentler I advice]
Phillis, be gentler I advice,
Make up for time mispent,
When Beauty, on its Death-Bed lyes,
'Tis high time to repent.
Make up for time mispent,
When Beauty, on its Death-Bed lyes,
'Tis high time to repent.
Such is the Malice of your Fate,
That makes you old so soon,
Your pleasure ever comes too late,
How early e're begun.
That makes you old so soon,
Your pleasure ever comes too late,
How early e're begun.
Think what a wretched thing is she,
Whose Stars, contrive in spight,
The Morning of her love shou'd be,
Her fading Beauties Night.
Whose Stars, contrive in spight,
The Morning of her love shou'd be,
Her fading Beauties Night.
Then if to make your ruin more,
You'll peevishly be coy,
Dye with the scandal of a Whore,
And never know the joy.
You'll peevishly be coy,
Dye with the scandal of a Whore,
And never know the joy.
| The poems of John Wilmot: Earl of Rochester | |