"Tis cruel to prolong a pain; An hundred thousand oaths your fears SONG. FAIR AIR Amynta, art thou mad, To let the world in me Envy joys I never had, And cenfure them in thee? Filled with grief for what is past, Love does timid fouls despise, Who lose themselves for toys, And escapes for those devise Who tafte his utmost joys. Love should like the year be crown'd Hope should in the spring abound, Kind fears, and jealousy. In the fummer, flowers fhould rife, And in the autumn, fruit: His fpring doth else but mock our eyes, And in a fcoff falute. SONG. THANKS, fair Urania, to your fcorn, In lofing me, proud nymph, you lofe My ranging love did never find I, unawares, my freedom gave, Would you have kept what you had won, You should have more compaffion shewn. Love is a burthen, which two hearts, I'm not of those who court their pain, My hope in love does ne'er expire, But it extinguishes defire. Nor yet of thofe, who ill received, And, where their love could not prevail, Whoe'er would make his victor lefs Muft his own weak defence confefs; And, while her power he does defame, He poorly doubles his own shame. Even that malice does betray, He's ftill in torment, whom the rage In love, indiff'rence is the fure SONG. HEARS EARS not my Phillis, how the birds They tell their paffion in their words, Phillis, without frown or fmile, Sat and knotted all the while. The god of love, in thy bright eyes, Doth like a tyrant reign; But in thy heart, a child he lies, Without his dart or flame. Phillis, &c. So many months in filence past, And yet in raging love; Might well deferve one word at last, My paffion should approve. Phillis, &c. Muft then your faithful swain expire, And not one look obtain ; SONG. PHILLIS is my only joy, Faithlefs as the winds or feas; I am caft down, And beguiling, Makes me happier than before. Though, alas! too late I find I believing, What can lovers wish for more? |