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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