The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume VI

by Aphra Behn

LOVE's Resentment.

Must we eternal Martyrdom pursue?
Must we still Love, and always suffer too?
Must we continue still to dye,
And ne'r declare the cruel Cause;
Whilst the fair Murdress asks not why,
But triumphs in her rigorous Laws;
And grows more mighty in disdain, }
More Peevish, Humorous, Proud and Vain }
The more we languish by our Pain? }
And when we Vow, Implore, and Pray,
Shall the Inhumane cruel fair
Only with nice disdain the sufferer pay?
Consult her Pride alone in the affair,
And coldly cry—In time perhaps I may—
Consider and redress the Youth's despair;
And when she wou'd a Period put to's Fate,
Alas, her cruel Mercy comes too late!
But wise Respect obligingly reply'd,
Amintas Cruelty you need not dread,
Your Passion by your Eyes will soon be known,
Without this hast to Declaration;
'Tis I will guide you where you still shall find,
Aminta in best Humour and most kind.

Strong were his Arguments; his Reasonings prove
Too pow'rful for the angry God of Love.
Who by degrees t' his native softness came,
Yields to Respect and owns his haste a blame.
Both vow obedience to his judging Wit,
And to his graver Conduct both submit,
Who now invites us to a Reverend place,
An ancient Town, whose Governor he was.
Impregnable, with Bastions fortify'd,
Guarded with fair built Walls on every side,
The top of which the Eye cou'd scarce discern,
So strong as well secur'd the Rich concern;
Silence with Modesty and Secrecy,
Have all committed to their Custody.
Silence to every questions ask'd, replies
With apt Grimasses of the Face and Eyes;
Her Finger on her Mouth; and as you've seen,
Her Picture, Handsom, with fantastick mean,
Her every Motion her Commands express,
But seldom any the hid Soul confess.
The Virgin Modesty is wond'rous fair,
A bashful Motion, and a blushing Air;
With unassur'd regard her Eyes do move,
Untaught by affectation or Self-love;
Her Robes not gaudy were, nor loosely ty'd,
But even concealing more then need be hid.
For Secrecie, one rarely sees her Face,
Whose lone Apartment is some Dark recess;
From whence unless some great affairs oblige,
She finds it difficult to dis-ingage;
Her voice is low, but subtilly quick her Ears,
And answers still by signs to what she hears.
—Led by Respect we did an entrance get,
Not saying any thing, who ere we met.

The City of DISCRETION.

The Houses there, retir'd in Gardens are,
And all is done with little noise,
One seldom sees Assemblies there,
Or publick shows for Grief or Joys.
One rarely walks but in the Night,
And most endeavour to avoid the Light.
There the whole World their bus'ness carry,
Without or confident, or Secretary:
One still is under great constraint,
Must always suffer, but ne'r make complaint,
'Tis there the dumb and silent languishes,
Are predic'd, which so well explain the Heart:
Which without speaking can so much express,
And secrets to the Soul the nearest way impart;
Language which prettify perswades belief;
Who's silent Eloquence obliges Joy or Grief.

This City's called Discretion, being the name
Of her that is Lieutenant of the same,
And Sister to Respect; a Lady who
Seldom obtains a Conquest at first view;
But in repeated Visits one shall find,
Sufficient Charms of Beauty and of Mind:
Her vigorous piercing Eyes can when they please,
Make themselves lov'd, and understood with Ease.
Not too severe, but yet reserv'd and wise,
And her Address is full of subtilties;
Which upon all occasions serves her turn;
T' express her Kindness, and to hide her scorn;
Dissimulations Arts, she useful holds,
And in good manners sets 'en down for rules.
'Twas here Aminta liv'd, and here I paid
My constant visits to the lovely Maid.
With mighty force upon my Soul I strove,
To hide the Sent'ments of my raging Love.
All that I spoke did but indifferent seem,
Or went no higher than a great esteem.
But 'twas not long my Passion I conceal'd,
My flame in spight of me, it self reveal'd.

The silent Confession.

And tho' I do not speak, alas,
My Eyes, and Sighs too much do say!
And pale and languishing my Face,
The torments of my Soul betray;
They the sad story do unfold,
Love cannot his own secrets hold;
And though Fear ty's my Tongue, Respect my Eyes,
Yet something will disclose the pain;
Which breaking out throw's all disguise;
Reproaches her with Cruelties;
Which she augments by new disdain;
—Where e're she be, I still am there;
What-ere she do, I that prefer;
In spight of all my strength, at her approach,
I tremble with a sight or touch;
Paleness or Blushes does my Face surprize,
If mine by chance meet her encountering Eyes;
'Twas thus she learn'd my Weakness, and her Pow'r;
And knew too well she was my Conqueror.

And now—
Her Eyes no more their wonted Smiles afford,
But grew more fierce, the more they were ador'd;
The marks of her esteem which heretofore
Rais'd my aspiring flame, oblige no more;
She calls up all her Pride to her defence;
And as a Crime condemns my just pretence;
Me from her presence does in Fury chase;
No supplications can my doom reverse;
And vainly certain of her Victory,
Retir'd into the Den of Cruelty.

The Den of Cruelty.

A Den where Tygers make the passage good,
And all attempting Lovers make their Food;
I'th' hollow of a mighty Rock 'tis plac'd,
Which by the angry Sea is still imbrac'd:
Whose frightful surface constant Tempest wears,
Which strikes the bold Adventurers with Fears.
The Elements their rudest Winds send out,
Which blow continual coldness round about.
Upon the Rock eternal Winter dwells,
Which weeps away in dropping Isicles;
The barren hardness meets no fruitful Ray,
Nor bears it Issue to the God of day;
All bleek and cale, th' unshady prospect lies,
And nothing grateful meets the melancholy Eyes.

To this dire place Aminta goes, whilst I,
Begg'd her with Prayers and Tears to pass it by;
All dying on the Ground my self I cast,
And with my Arms her flying Feet imbrac'd;
But she from the kind force with Fury flung,
And on an old deformed Woman hung.
A Woman frightful, with a horrid Frown,
And o're her angry Eyes, her Brows hung down:
One single Look of hers, fails not t' impart,
A terror and despair to every Heart:
She fills the Universe with discontents,
And Torments for poor Lovers still invents.
This is the mighty Tyrant Cruelty,
Who with the God of Love is still at enmity;
She keeps a glorious Train, and Glorious Court,
And thither Youth and Beauty still resort:
But oh my Soul form'd for Loves softer Sport,
Cou'd not endure the Rigor of her Court!
Which her first rude Address did so affright,
That I all Trembling hasted from her Sight,
Leaving the unconcern'd and cruel Maid,
And on a Rivers Bank my self all fainting laid;
Which River from the obdurate Rock proceeds,
And cast's it self i'th' Melancholy Meads.

The River of Despair.

Its Torrent has no other source,
But Tears from dying Lovers Eyes;
Which mixt with Sighs precipitates its course;
Softning the senseless Rocks in gliding by;
Whose doleful Murmurs have such Eloquence
That even the neighbouring Trees and flow'rs have pitying sense;
And Cruelty alone knows in what sort,
Against the moving sound to make defence,
Who laughs at all despair and Death as sport.

A dismal Wood the Rivers Banks do bear,
Securing even the day from entering there;
The Suns bright Rays a passage cannot find,
Whose Boughs make constant War against the Wind;
Yet through their Leaves glimmers a sullen Light;
Which renders all below more terrible than Night,
And shows upon the Bark of every Tree,
Sad stories carv'd of Love and Cruelty;
The Grove is fill'd with Sighs, with Crys, and Groans,
Reproaches and Complaints in dying Moans;
The Neighbouring Eccho's nothing do repeat,
But what the Soul sends forth with sad regret;
And all things there no other Murmurs make,
But what from Language full of death they take,
'Twas in this place dispairing ere to free
Aminta from the Arms of Cruelty,
That I design'd to render up my Breath,
And charge the cruel Charmer with my Death.

The RESOLVE.

Now, my fair Tyrant, I despise your Pow'r;
'Tis Death, not you becomes my Conqueror;
This easy Trophy which your scorn
Led bleeding by your Chariot-side,
Your haughty Victory to adorn,
Has broke the Fetters of your Pride,
Death takes his quarrel now in hand,
And laughs at all your Eyes can do;
His pow'r thy Beauty can withstand,
Not all your Smiles can the grim victor bow.
He'll hold no Parley with your Wit,
Nor understands your wanton play,
Not all your Arts can force him to submit,
Not all your Charms can teach him to obey;
Your youth nor Beauty can inspire,
His frozen Heart with Love's perswasive fire;
Alas, you cannot warm him to one soft desire;
Oh mighty Death that art above,
The pow'r of Beauty or of Love!

Thus sullen with my Fate sometimes I grew,
And then a fit of softness wou'd ensue,
Then weep, and on my Knees implore my Fair,
And speak as if Aminta present were.

The QUESTION.

Say, my fair Charmer, must I fall,
A Victim to your Cruelty?
And must I suffer as a Criminal?
Is it to Love offence enough to dye?
Is this the recompence at last,
Of all the restless hours I've past?
How oft my Awe, and my Respect,
Have fed your Pride and Scorn?
How have I suffered your neglect,
Too mighty to be born?
How have I strove to hide that flame
You seem'd to disapprove?
How careful to avoid the name
Of Tenderness or Love?
Least at that Word some guilty Blush shou'd own,
What your bright Eyes forbad me to make known.

Thus fill'd the neighbouring Eccho's with my Cry,
Did nothing but reproach, complain and dye:
One day——
All hopeless on the Rivers Brink I stood,
Resolv'd to plunge into the Rapid Floud,
That Floud that eases Lovers in despair,
And puts an end to all their raging care:
'Tis hither those betray'd by Beauty come,
And from this kinder stream receive their doom;
Here Birds of Ominous presages Nest,
Securing the forlorn Inhabitants from rest:
Here Mid-night-Owls, night-Crows, and Ravens dwell,
Filling the Air with Melancholy Yell:
Here swims a thousand Swans, whose doleful moan
Sing dying Loves Requiems with their own:
I gaz'd around, and many Lovers view'd,
Gastly and pale, who my design pursu'd;
But most inspir'd by some new hope, or won
To finish something they had left undone;
Some grand Important bus'ness of their Love,
Did from the fatal precipice remove:
For me, no Reason my designs disswade,
Till Love all Breathless hasted to my Aid;
With force m' unfixing Feet he kindly graspt,
And tenderly reproacht my desperate hast,
Reproach'd my Courage, and condemn'd my Wit,
That meanly cou'd t' a Womans scorn submit,
That cou'd to feed her Pride, and make her vain,
Destroy an Age of Life, for a short date of pain:
He wou'd have left me here, but that I made, }
So many friendships as did soon perswade }
The yielding Boy, who Smil'd, resolv'd and staid. }
He rais'd my Head, and did again renew,
His Flatteries, and all the Arts he knew:
To call my Courage to its wonted place.
What, cry'd he—(sweetly Angry) shall a Face
Arm'd with the weak resistance of a Frown,
Force us to lay our Claims and Titles down?
Shall Cruelty a peevish Woman prove,
Too strong to be overcome by Youth and Love?
No! rally all thy Vigor, all thy Charms,
And force her from the cruel Tyrants Arms;
Come, once more try th' incens'd Maid to appease,
Death's in our pow'r to grasp when ere we please;
He said——And I the heavenly voice attend,
Whilst towards the Rock our hasty steps we bend,
Before the Gates with all our forces lye,
Resolv'd to Conquer, or resolv'd to dye;
In vain Love all his feeble Engines rears,
His soft Artillery of Sighs and Tears,
Were all in vain—against the Winds were sent,
For she was proof 'gainst them and Languishment:
Repeated Vows and Prayers mov'd no Remorse,
And 'twas to Death alone I had Recourse:
Love in my Anguish bore a mighty part,
He pityed, but he cou'd not ease my Heart:
A thousand several ways he had assay'd,
To touch the Heart of this obdurate Maid;
Rebated all his Arrow's still return,
For she was fortify'd with Pride and Scorn.
The useless Weapons now away he flung,
Neglected lay his Ivory Bow unstrung,
His gentle Azure Wings were all unprun'd,
And the gay Plumes a fading Tinct assum'd;
Which down his snowy sides extended lay,
And now no more in wanton Motions play.
He blusht to think he had not left one dart,
Of force enough to wound Aminta's Heart;
He blusht to think she shou'd her freedom boast,
Whilst mine from the first Dart he sent was lost:
Thus tir'd with our Complaints; (whilst no relief
Rescu'd the fleeting Soul from killing Grief)
We saw a Maid approach, who's lovely Face
Disdain'd the Beauties of the common race:
Soft were her Eyes, where unfeign'd Sorrow dwelt,
And on her Cheeks in pitying Show'rs they melt:
Soft was her Voice, and tenderly it strook,
The eager listening Soul, when e're she spoke;
And what did yet my Courage more augment,
She wore this sadness for my languishment.

And sighing said, ah Gods! have you
Beheld this dying Youth, and never found
A pity for a Heart so true,
Which dyes adoring her that gave the Wound?
His Youth, his Passion, and his Constancy,
Merits, ye God's, a kinder Destiny.

With pleasure I attended what she said,
And wonder'd at the friendship of the Maid.
Of LOVE I ask'd her name? who answer'd me,
'Twas Pity: Enemy to Cruelty:
Who often came endeavouring to abate,
The Languishments of the unfortunate;
And said, if she wou'd take my injur'd part,
She soon wou'd soften fair Aminta's Heart;
For she knows all the subtillest Arts to move,
And teach the timorous Virgin how to love.
With Joy I heard, and my Address apply'd,
To gain the Beauteous Pity to my Side:
Nothing I left untold that might perswade,
The listening Virgin to afford her aid.
Told her my Passions, Sorrows, Pains and Fears,
And whilst I spoke, confirm'd 'em with my Tears;
All which with down-cast Eyes she did attend,
And blushing said, my Tale had made a Friend;
I bow'd and thankt her with a chearful look,
Which being return'd by hers, her leave she took:
Now to Aminta all in haste she hyes, }
Whom she assail'd with sorrow in her Eyes, }
And a sad story of my Miseries, }
Which she with so much tenderness exprest,
As forc'd some Sighs from the fair Charmers Breast;
The subtil Pity found she should prevail,
And oft repeats th' insinuating Tale,
And does insensibly the Maid betray,
Where Love and I, Panting and Trembling lay;
Where she beheld th' effects of her disdain,
And in my languid Face she read my Pain.
Down her fair Cheeks some pitying drops did glide;
Which cou'd not be restrain'd by feebler Pride;
Against my anguish she had no defence,
Such Charms had grief, my Tears such Eloquence;
My Sighs and Murmurs she began t' approve,
And listen'd to the story of my LOVE.
With tenderness, she did my Sufferings hear,
And even my Reproaches now cou'd bear:
At last my trembling Hand in hers she took,
And with a charming Blush, these Words she spoke:

I.

Faithful Lisander, I your Vows approve,
And can no longer hide.
My Sense of all your suffering Love,
With the thin Veil of Pride.

II.

'Twas long in Vain that Pity did assail,
My cold and stubborn Heart;
Ere on th' insensible she cou'd prevail,
To render any Part.

III.

To her for all the tenderness,
Which in my Eyes you find,
You must your gratitude express,
'Tis Pity only makes me kind.

IV.

Live then, Lisander, since I must confess,
In spight of all my native modesty,
I cannot wish that you shou'd Love me less;
Live then and hope the Circling Sun may see
In his swift course a grateful change in me,
And that in time your Passion may receive
All you dare take, and all a Maid may give.

Oh, Lysidas, I cannot here relate,
The Sense of Joy she did in me create;
The sudden Blessing overcame me so,
It almost finisht, what Grief fail'd to do;
I wanted Courage for the soft surprize,
And waited re-enforcements from her Eyes:
At last with Transports which I cou'd not hide,
Raising my self from off the ground, I cry'd.

The TRANSPORT.

Rejoyce! my new made happy Soul, Rejoyce!
Bless the dear minute, bless the Heav'nly voice,
That has revok't thy fatal doom;
Rejoyce! Aminta leads thee from the Tomb.
Banish the anxious thoughts of dying hours, }
Forget the shades and melancholy Bow'rs, }
Thy Eyes so oft bedew'd with falling show'rs; }
Banish all Thoughts that do remain, }
Of Sighing Days and Nights of Pain, }
When on neglected Beds of Moss thou'st lain: }
Oh happy Youth! Aminta bids thee live;
Thank not the sullen God's or defer Stars,
Since from her Hand thou dost the Prize receive;
Hers be the Service, as the bounty hers;
For all that Life must dedicated be,
To the fair God-like Maid that gave it Thee.

Now, Lysidas, behold my happy State;
Behold me Blest, behold me Fortunate,
And from the height of languishing despair,
Rais'd to the Glory of Aminta's care:
And this one moment of my Heaven of Joy,
Did the remembrance of past Griefs destroy:
And Pity ceas'd not here; but with new Eloquence,
Obliges the shy Maid to visit Confidence.

CONFIDENCE.

A Lady lovely, with a charming Meen,
Gay, frank, and open, and an Air serene;
In every Look she does her Soul impart,
With ease one reads the Sent'ments of her Heart;
Her Humour generous, and her Language free,
And all her Conversation graceful Liberty:
Her Villa is Youth's general Rendezvous,
Where in delightful Gardens, winding Groves,
The happy Lovers dwell with secresie,
Un-interrupted by fond Jealousie:
'Tis there with Innocence, they do and say
A thousand things, to pass the short-liv'd day:
There free from censuring Spies, they entertain,
And pleasures tast, un-intermixt with pain.

'Tis there we see, what most we do adore,
And yet we languish to discover more.
Hard fate of Lovers, who are ne'er content,
In an Estate so Blest and Innocent.
But still press forward, urg'd by soft desires,
To Joys that oft extinguishes their Fires;
In this degree I found a happiness,
Which nought but wishing more cou'd render less.
I saw Aminta here without controul,
And told her all the Secrets of my Soul;
Whilst she t' express her height of Amity,
Communicated all her Thoughts to me.

The REFLECTION.

Oh with what Pleasure did I pass away.
The too swift course of the delightful day!
What Joys I found in being a Slave
To every Conquering Smile she gave,
Whose every sweetness wou'd inspire
The Cinick and the Fool with Love;
Alas, I needed no more Fire,
Who did its height already prove:
Ah my Aminta! had I been content,
With this degree of Ravishment,
With the nee'r satisfy'd delight I took,
Only to prattle Love, to sigh and look,
With the dull Bartering Kiss for Kiss,
And never aim'd at higher Bliss,
With all the stealths forgetful Lovers make,
When they their Little Covenants break:
To these sad shades of Death I'd not been hurl'd,
And thou mightst still have blest the drooping World;
But though my Pleasure were thus vast and high, }
Yet Loves insatiate Luxury }
Still wish'd reveal'd the unknown Mystery. }

But still Love importun'd, nor cou'd I rest,
So often, and impatiently he prest,
That I the lovely Virgin wou'd invite,
To the so worshipp'd Temple of Delight.
By all the Lovers Arts I strove to move,
And watch the softest Minutes of her Love,
Which against all my Vows and Prayers were proof.
Alas she lov'd, but did not love enough:
And I cou'd no returns but Anger get,
Her Heart was not intirely conquer'd yet;
For liking, I mistook her Complysance,
And that for Love; when 'twas her Confidence.
But 'twas not long my Sighs I did imploy,
Before she rais'd me to the height of Joy.
And all my Fears and Torments to remove,
Yields I shall lead her to the Court of LOVE.
Here, Lysidas, thou thinks me sure and blest,
With Recompence for all my past unrest;
But fortun'd smil'd the easier to betray,
She's less inconstant than a Lover's Joy:
For whilst our Chariot Wheels out-stript the Wind,
Leaving all thought of Mortal Cares behind,
Whilst we sate gazing full of new surprize,
Exchanging Souls from eithers darting Eyes,
We encounter'd One who seem'd of great Command,
Who seiz'd the Reins with an all-pow'rful hand:
Awful his looks, but rude in his Address,
And his Authority roughly did express;
His violent Hands he on Aminta laid,
And out of mine snatch'd the dear trembling Maid;
So suddenly as hinder'd my defence,
And she cou'd only say in parting thence,
Forgive, Lisander, what by force I do,
Since nothing else can ravish me from you;
Make no resistance, I obey [5]Devoir.
Who values not thy Tears, thy Force or Prayer,
Retain thy Faith and Love Aminta still,
Since she abandons thee against her Will.
Immoveable I remain'd with this surprize,
Nor durst reply so much as with my Eyes.
I saw her go, but was of Sense bereav'd,
And only knew from what I heard, I liv'd;
Yes, yes, I heard her last Commands, and thence
By violent degrees retriev'd my Sense.
Ye Gods, in this your Mercy was severe,
You might have spar'd the useless favour here.
But the first Thoughts my Reason did conceive,
Were to pursue the injurious Fugitive.
Raving, that way I did my haste direct,
But once more met the Reverend Respect,
From whom I strove my self to dis-ingage,
And faign'd a calmness to disguise my Rage.
In vain was all the Cheat, he soon perceiv'd,
Spight of my Smiles, how much, and why I griev'd;
Saw my despairs, and what I meant to do,
And begg'd I wou'd the rash Design forego;
A thousand dangers he did represent,
T' win me from the desperate attempt.
I ever found his Counsel just and good,
And now resolv'd it shou'd not be withstood;
Thus he ore-came my Rage, but did not free,
My Soul from Griefs more painful Tyranny;
Grief tho' more soft, did not less cruel prove,
Madness is easier far then hopeless Love.
I parted thus, but knew not what to do;
Nor where I went; nor did I care to know;
With folded Arms, with weeping Eyes declin'd, }
I search the unknown shade, I cou'd not find, }
And mixt my constant Sighs with flying Wind. }
By slow unsteady steps the Paths I trace,
Which undesign'd conduct me to a place
Fit for a Soul distrest; obscur'd with shade,
Lonely and fit for Love and Sorrow made;
The Murmuring Boughs themselves together twist,
And 'twou'd allow to Grief her self some rest.
Inviron'd 'tis with lofty Mountains round,
From whence the Eccho's, Sighs, and Crys rebound;
Here in the midst and thickest of the Wood,
Cover'd with bending Shades a Castle stood,
Where Absence that dejected Maid remains,
Who nothing but her Sorrow entertains.

[5] Duty.

ABSENCE.

Her mourning languid Eyes are rarely shown,
Unless to those afflicted like her own;
Her lone Apartment all obscure as Night,
Discover'd only by a glimmering Light:
Weeping she sate, her Face with Grief dismaid,
Which all its natural sweetness has decaid;
Yet in despight of Grief there does appear, }
The ruin'd Monuments of what was fair, }
E'r cruel Love and Grief had took possession there. }
These made her old without the aid of Years; }
Worn out, and faint with lingring hopes and fears, }
She seldom answers ought but with her Tears. }
No Train attends, she only is obey'd
By Melancholy, that soft, silent Maid:
A Maid that fits her Humour every way,
With whom she passes all the tedious day:
No other object can her Mind content,
She Feeds and Flatters all her languishment;
The noisy Streams that from high Mountains fall;
And water all the Neighbouring flowry Vale:
The Murmurs of the Rivulets that glide,
Against the bending Seges on the side;
Of mournful Birds the sad and tuneful Noats,
The Bleats of straggling Lambs, and new yean'd Goats:
The distant Pipe of some lone Mountain Swain, }
Who to his injur'd Passion fits his strain; }
Is all the Harmony her Soul can entertain. }

On a strict league of Friendship we agree,
For I was sad, and as forlorn as she;
To all her Humours, I conform my own,
Together Sigh, together Weep, and Moan;
Like her to Woods and Fountains I retreat,
And urge the pitying Eccho's to repeat
My tale of Love, and at each Period found
Aminta's name, and bear it all around,
Whilst listening Voices do the charm reply,
And lost in mixing Air, together dye.
There minutes like dull days creep slowly on,
And every day I drag an Age along;
The coming hours cou'd no more pleasures hast,
Than those so insupportably I'd past.
I rav'd, I wept, I wisht, but all in vain,
The distant Maid, nor saw, nor eas'd my pain;
With my sad tale, each tender Bark I fill,
This—soft complaints, and that—my Ravings tell;
This bears vain Curses on my cruel fate,
And Blessings on the Charming Virgin, that;
The Willow by the lonely Spring that grows,
And o're the Stream bends his forsaken Boughs,
I call Lisander; they, like him, I find,
Murmur and ruffl'd are with every Wind.
On the young springing Beech that's straight and tall,
I Carve her name, and that Aminta call;
But where I see an Oak that Climbs above
The rest, and grows the Monster of the Grove;
Whose pow'rful Arms when aiding Winds do blow,
Dash all the tender twining Shades below,
And even in Calms maliciously do spread,
That naught beneath can thrive, imbrace or breed;
Whose mischiefs far exceed his fancy'd good,
Honour I call him: Tyrant of the Wood.
Thus rove from Thought to Thought without relief:
A change 'tis true; but 'tis from Grief to Grief;
Which when above my silence they prevail, }
With Love I'm froward, on my Fortune rail, }
And to the Winds breathe my neglected Tale. }