Tixall Poetry/To Love
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XLIII.
To Love.
O Love, if ere thou'dst ease a hart
That ownes thy power devine,
That bleeds with thy to cruell dart,
And pants with never-dying smart,
Take pitty now on mine.
Under thy shades I fainting lie,
A thousand times I wish to die,
But when I think cold death draws nigh
I grieve to loose my pleasing paine,
And call my wishes back againe.
That ownes thy power devine,
That bleeds with thy to cruell dart,
And pants with never-dying smart,
Take pitty now on mine.
Under thy shades I fainting lie,
A thousand times I wish to die,
But when I think cold death draws nigh
I grieve to loose my pleasing paine,
And call my wishes back againe.
But thus as I sat all alone,
Ith shady mirtle grove,
And to each gentle sigh and moane,
Some neighbouring eccho gave a grone,
Came by the man I love:
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.
Ith shady mirtle grove,
And to each gentle sigh and moane,
Some neighbouring eccho gave a grone,
Came by the man I love:
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.
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.