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Shall then, in earnest truth,

My careful eyes observe her? Shall I consume my youth,

And short my time to serve her? Shall I, beyond my strength,

Let passion's torments prove me? To hear her say at length,

Away-I cannot love thee.”

O, rather let me die

Whilst I thus gentle find her; 'Twere worse than death, if I

Should find she proves unkinder! One frown, though but in jest,

Or one unkindness, feigned, Would rob me of more rest

Than e'er could be regained.

But in her eyes I find

Such signs of pity moving, She cannot be unkind,

Nor err, nor fail in loving. And, on her forehead, this

Seems written to relieve me; My heart no joy shall miss,

That love or she can give me. And this shall be the worst

Of all that can betide me, If I, like some, accurs'd,

Should find my hopes deride me; My cares will not be long;

I know which way to mend them : I'll think who did the wrong,

Sigh, break my heart, and end them.

(Abridged from 10 stanzas.]

Hence, away, thou Syren, leave me,

Pish! unclasp these wanton arms; Sugar'd words can ne'er deceive me, Though thou prove a thousand charms;

Fie, fie, forbear!

No common snare
Can ever my affection chain :

Thy painted baits,

And poor deceits,
Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I'm no slave to such as you be,

Nor shall that soft snowy breast,

Rolling eye, and lip of ruby,
Ever rob me of my rest :

Go, go, display

Thy beauty's ray To some more-soon-enamour'd swain :

Those forced wiles

Of sights and smiles,
Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I have elsewhere vow'd a duty;

Turn away thy tempting eye: Shew not me thy painted beauty, These impostures I defy :

My spirit loaths

Where gaudy cloaths, And feigned oaths, may love obtain:

I love her so,

Whose look swears no ;
That all thy labour will be vain.

Can he prize the tainted posies

Which on others breast are worn, That may pluck the virgin roses From the never-touched thorn?

I can go rest
On her sweet breast,

That is the pride of Cynthia's train:

Then stay thy tongue,

Thy mermaid song
Is all bestow'd on me in vain.

He's a fool that basely dallies

Where each peasant mates with him. Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, Whilst there's noble hills to climb ?

No, no; though clowns

Are scar'd with frowns,
I know the best can but disdain :

And those I'll prove,

So will thy love
Be all bestow'd on me in vain.

I do scorn to vow a duty,

Where each lustful lad may woo: Give me her, whose sun-like beauty Buzzards dare not soar unto :

She, she it is

Affords that bliss
For which I would refuse no pain:

But such as you,

Fond fools, adieu !
You seek to captive me in vain.

Leave me then, thou Syren, leave me,

Seek no more to work my harms: Crafty wiles cannot deceive me; I am proof against your charms :

You labour may

To lead astray The heart that constant shall remain;

And I the while

Will sit and smile To see you spend your time in vain.

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