Part 5 (2/2)

Ask, lover, ere thou diest; let one poor breath Steal from thy lips, to tell her of thy death; Doating idolater! can silence bring Thy saint propitious? or will Cupid fling One arrow for thy paleness? leave to try This silent courts.h.i.+p of a sickly eye.

Witty to tyranny, she too well knows This but the incense of thy private vows, That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay; Ask her, fool, ask her; if words cannot move, The language of thy tears may make her love.

Flow nimbly from me then; and when you fall On her breast's warmer snow, O may you all, By some strange fate fix'd there, distinctly lie, The much lov'd volume of my tragedy.

Where, if you win her not, may this be read, The cold that freez'd you so, did strike me dead.

SONG.

Amyntas go, thou art undone, Thy faithful heart is cross'd by fate; That love is better not begun, Where love is come to love too late.[43]

Had she professed[44] hidden fires, Or show'd one[45] knot that tied her heart, I could have quench'd my first desires, And we had only met to part.

But, tyrant, thus to murder men, And shed a lover's harmless blood, And burn him in those flames again, Which he at first might have withstood.

Yet, who that saw fair Chloris weep Such sacred dew, with such pure[46] grace; Durst think them feigned tears, or seek For treason in an angel's face.

This is her art, though this be true, Men's joys are kill'd with[47] griefs and fears, Yet she, like flowers oppress'd with dew, Doth thrive and flourish in her tears.

This, cruel, thou hast done, and thus That face hath many servants slain, Though th' end be not to ruin us, But to seek glory by our pain.[48]

FOOTNOTES:

[43] MS. _Whose pure offering comes too late._

[44] MS. _profess'd her._

[45] MS. _the._

[46] MS. _such a._

[47] MS. _by._

[48]

MS. _Your aime is sure to ruine us._ _Seeking your glory by our paine_

TO AMORET.

Walking in a Starry Evening.

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