3 The flowers she wore along the day; And every nymph and shepherd said, 4 Undressed at evening when she found 5 That eye dropped sense distinct and clear, As any Muse's tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous check. 6 Dissembling what I knew too well, My love, my life, said I, explain This change of humour; pr'ythee, tell: That falling tear-What does it mean! 7 She sighed; she smiled; and to the flowers. Pointing, the lovely moralist said; Sce, friend, in some few fleeting hours, See yonder, what a change is made. 8 Ah me! the blooming pride of May, 9 At dawn poor Stella danced and sung; The amorous youth around her bowed; At night her fatal knell was rung; I saw, and kissed her in her shroud. 10 Such as she is, who died to-day, Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display THE LADY WHO OFFERS HER LOOKING GLASS TO VENUS.1 VENUS, take my votive glass, Since I am not what I was; What from this day I shall be, Venus, let me never see. CLOE JEALOUS. 1 FORBEAR to ask me, why I weep; 2 For mind I what you late have writ? The ways, where changing Cupid flies. 3 Your riddle purposed to rehearse The general power that beauty has; Describe one charm of Cloe's face? 4 The glass, which was at Venus' shrine, With such mysterious sorrow laid; The garland (and you call it mine) Which showed how youth and beauty fade. 1 From an epigram of Plato. See Rambler, Number 143. 5 Ten thousand trifles light as these Nor can my rage, nor anger move: 6 When in my glass I chanced to look; 7 Reading thy verse, who heeds, said I, Whose heart to me is always true! 8 My bloom indeed, my little flower 9 Yet cared I not what might presage, Or withered wreath, or fleeting youth; Love I esteemed more strong than age, And Time less permanent than Truth. 10 Why then I weep, forbear to know: Fall uncontrolled my tears, and free; O Damon! 'tis the only woe I ever yet concealed from thee. 11 The secret wound with which I bleed Shall lie wrapped up even in my hearse; ANSWER TO CLOE JEALOUS. IN THE SAME STYLE. THE AUTHOR SICK. 1 YES, fairest proof of Beauty's power, 2 While now I take my last adieu, Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear; 3 From Jealousy's tormenting strife 4 Yet when some better-fated youth Shall with his amorous parley move thee: Who, dying thus, persists to love thee. A BETTER ANSWER. 1 DEAR Cloe, how blubbered is that pretty face, Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled; Pry'thee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says) Let us even talk a little like folks of this world. 2 How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping? Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy: More ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping. 1 3 To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ, Your judgment at once, and my passion you wrong; You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit: Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a song? 4 What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, shows heart! 5 The god of us verse-men (you know, child) the sun, How after his journeys he sets up his rest; If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run, 6 So when I am wearied with wandering all day, 7 Then finish, dear Cloe, this pastoral war; PALLAS AND VENUS. AN EPIGRAM. THE Trojan swain had judged the great dispute, 1 My heart with her, but as guest-wise, sojourn'd; And now to Helen it is home return'd, There to remain. Midsummer Night's Dream, A. iii. S. 2. |