162
Tixall Poetry.
O! how I strove my griefs to hide,
I fainted, blusht, and almost dide—
And did each tattling eccho chide,
For fear some breath of neighboring aire
Should to his eares my sorrowes beare.
I fainted, blusht, and almost dide—
And did each tattling eccho chide,
For fear some breath of neighboring aire
Should to his eares my sorrowes beare.
But, O ye Powers, ide die to gaine
But one poore parting kisse,
And yet ide lie on racks of paine
Ere ide a thought or wish obtaine
That honour thinks amiss.
Thus are poor maids unkindly used
By Love and Nature both abused—
And tender harts all ease refused;
And when we burn with secret flame,
Must die with grief or live with shame.
But one poore parting kisse,
And yet ide lie on racks of paine
Ere ide a thought or wish obtaine
That honour thinks amiss.
Thus are poor maids unkindly used
By Love and Nature both abused—
And tender harts all ease refused;
And when we burn with secret flame,
Must die with grief or live with shame.
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