Song LI., pp.303-304.

[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. 

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