[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
MY Cloe, why do ye slight me,
Since all you ask you have?
No more with frowns affright me,
Nor use me like a slave:
Good nature to discover,
Use well your faithful lover,
I’ll be no more a rover,
But constant to my grave.
–
Could we but change conditions,
My grief would all be flown;
Were I the kind physician,
And you the patient grown:
All own you’re wond’rous pretty,
Well shap’d, and also witty,
Enforc’d with generous pity,
Then make my case your own.
–
The silver swan, when dying,
Has most melodious lays,
Like him, when life is flying,
In songs I’ll end my days:
But know, thou cruel creature,
My soul shall mount the fleeter,
And I shall sing the sweeter,
By warbling forth thy praise.
