Song XXXV., pp.283-284.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

THO’ cruel you seem to my pain, 

And hate me because I am true; 

Yet, Phillis, you love a false swain, 

Who has other nymphs in his view. 

Enjoyment’s a trifle to him, 

To me what a heaven it would be; 

To him but a woman you seem, 

But ah! you’re an angel to me: 


Those lips which he touches in haste, 

To them I for ever could grow, 

Still clinging around that dear waist, 

Which he spanns as beside him you go; 

That arm, like a lilly so white, 

Which over his shoulders you lay, 

My bosom could warm it all night, 

My lips they would press it all day. 


Were I like a monarch to reign, 

Were graces my subjects to be, 

I’d leave them, and fly to the plain, 

To dwell in a cottage with thee: 

But if I must feel thy disdain, 

If tears cannot cruelty drown, 

O! let me not live in this pain, 

But give my death in a frown. 

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