224
Tixall Poetry.
You fondly look for what none ere could find,
Deceav'd your selfe, and then call me unkind:
And by false reasons, would my falshood prove,
For 'tis as natural to change as love.
You may as justly at the sun repine,
Because alike it doth not alwayes shine.
No glorious thing was ever made to stay;
My biasing star but visets, and away.
As fatal too it shines as those ith' skies,
'Tis never seen but some greate lady dyes.
The boasted favor you so pretions hold,
To me's no more than changing of my gold.
What ere you gave, I paid you back in bliss,
Then where's the obligation pray of this?
If heretofore you found grace in my eyes,
Be thankfull for it, and let that suffice.
But women, beggar like, still haunt the dore
Where they receaved a charity before.
O happy Sultan, whom we barbarous call!
How much refin'd art thou above us all!
W ho envies not the ioyes of thy serail?
Thee, like some god, the trembling crowd adore,
Each man's thy slave, and womankind's thy—.
Deceav'd your selfe, and then call me unkind:
And by false reasons, would my falshood prove,
For 'tis as natural to change as love.
You may as justly at the sun repine,
Because alike it doth not alwayes shine.
No glorious thing was ever made to stay;
My biasing star but visets, and away.
As fatal too it shines as those ith' skies,
'Tis never seen but some greate lady dyes.
The boasted favor you so pretions hold,
To me's no more than changing of my gold.
What ere you gave, I paid you back in bliss,
Then where's the obligation pray of this?
If heretofore you found grace in my eyes,
Be thankfull for it, and let that suffice.
But women, beggar like, still haunt the dore
Where they receaved a charity before.
O happy Sultan, whom we barbarous call!
How much refin'd art thou above us all!
W ho envies not the ioyes of thy serail?
Thee, like some god, the trembling crowd adore,
Each man's thy slave, and womankind's thy—.
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