The Poems Of Mark Akenside | ||
225
ODE IV. AFFECTED INDIFFERENCE. TO THE SAME.
I
Yes: you contemn the perjur'd maidWho all your favorite hopes betray'd:
Nor, though her heart should home return,
Her tuneful tongue it's falsehood mourn,
Her winning eyes your faith implore,
Would you her hand receive again,
Or once dissemble your disdain,
Or listen to the syren's theme,
Or stoop to love: since now esteem
And confidence, and friendship, is no more.
II
Yet tell me, Phædria, tell me why,When summoning your pride you try
To meet her looks with cool neglect,
Or cross her walk with slight respect,
226
Whence do your cheeks indignant glow?
Why is your struggling tongue so slow?
What means that darkness on your brow?
As if with all her broken vow
You meant the fair apostate to upbraid?
The Poems Of Mark Akenside | ||