REmember, Damon, you did tell,
In chastity you lov’d me well;
But now, alas! I am undone,
And here am left to make my moan:
To doleful shades I will remove,
Since I’m despis’d by him I love,
Where poor forsaken nymphs are seen,
In lonely walks of willow green.
Upon my dear’s deluding tongue,
Such soft perswasive language hung,
That when his words had silence broke,
You wou’d have thought an angel spoke.
Too happy nymph, whoe’er she be,
That now enjoys my charming he;
For oh! I fear it to my cost,
She’s found the heart that I have lost.
Beneath the fairest flower on earth,
A snake may hide, or take its birth;
So his false breast, conceal it did
His heart, the snake that there lay hid.
‘Tis false to say, we happy are,
Since men delight thus to ensare;
In man no woman can be blest,
Their vows are wind, their love a jest.
Ye Gods, in pity to my grief,
Send me my Damon, or relief;
Return the wild delicious boy,
Whom once I thought my spring of joy:
But whilst I’m begging of this bliss,
Methinks I hear you answer thus,
When Damon has enjoy’d, he flies,
Who see him, loves; who loves him, dies.
There’s not a bird that haunts the grove,
But is a witness of my love:
Now all the bleeters on the plain
Seem sympathizers in my pain:
Eccho’s repeat my plaintive moans;
The waters imitate my groans;
The trees their bending boughs recline,
And droop their heads as I do mine.