150
Tixall Poetry.
Noe more like a slave will I stand at thy dore,
I will wast the cold nights at thy window noe more;
Noe more with deepe sighs I my breath will exhale,
Since thy pride is to make me looke sullen and pale.
Noe more shall Amintas such pitty implore,
Were the Gods soe unkind, men would worship noe more.
I will wast the cold nights at thy window noe more;
Noe more with deepe sighs I my breath will exhale,
Since thy pride is to make me looke sullen and pale.
Noe more shall Amintas such pitty implore,
Were the Gods soe unkind, men would worship noe more.
Noe more shall thy frownes nor free humor perswade
Me to feare the faire idoll my fancy hath made;
Of saints so neglectful we the worship give ore,
Thy beauty is gone, and thy deity's noe more.
Noe more shall Amintas such beauty adore,
Were the Gods so unkind, men would worship noe more.
Me to feare the faire idoll my fancy hath made;
Of saints so neglectful we the worship give ore,
Thy beauty is gone, and thy deity's noe more.
Noe more shall Amintas such beauty adore,
Were the Gods so unkind, men would worship noe more.
How vaine are the vows of a lover in paine,
When flattered by hopes, or opprest by disdaine!
Noe sooner my Daphne's bright eies I review,
But all is forgott, and I vow all anew.
Noe more, cruell nimph, will I murmure, noe more,
Though you still are unkind, I will ever adore.
When flattered by hopes, or opprest by disdaine!
Noe sooner my Daphne's bright eies I review,
But all is forgott, and I vow all anew.
Noe more, cruell nimph, will I murmure, noe more,
Though you still are unkind, I will ever adore.
