A Palace that is more uneasy far,
Then those of cruelty and absence are,
There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow,
Continual Murmuring Winds around do blow,
Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air,
And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obscure;
Whose sullen dawn all Objects multiplies.
And render things that are not, to the Eyes.
Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light, }
That with such subtil Art delude the sight, }
That one can see no Object true or right. }
I here transported and impatient grow
And all things out of order do;
Hasty and peevish every thing I say, }
Suspicion and distrust's my Passions sway, }
And bend all Nature that uneasy way. }
II.
A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart;
A thousand Visions fill the Eyes,
And Deaf to all that can relief impart,
We hate the Counsel of the Wise,
And Sense like Tales of Lunaticks despise:
Faithless, as Couzen'd Maids, by Men undone,
And obstinate as new Religion,
As full of Error, and false Notion too,
As Dangerous, and as Politick;
As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit;
As Vain and Fancyful in all we do:
—Thus Wreck the Soul, as if it did conceal,
Love Secrets which by torturing 'two'd reveal.
Restless and wild, ranging each Field and Grove;
I meet the Author of my painful Love;
But still surrounded with a numerous Train
Of Lovers, whom Love taught to Sigh and Fawn,
At my approach, my Soul all Trembling flies,
And tells its soft Resentment at my Eyes:
My Face all pale, my steps unsteady fall,
And faint Confusion spreads it self o're all.
I listen to each low breath'd Word she says,
And the returns the happy Answerer pays:
When catching half the Sense, the rest Invent,
And turn it still to what will most Torment;
If any thing by Whispers she impart,
'Tis Mortal, 'tis a Dagger at my Heart;
And every Smile, each Motion, Gesture, Sign,
In favour of some Lover I explain:
When I am absent, in some Rivals Arms,
I Fancy she distributes all her Charms,
And if alone I find her; sighing cry,
Some happier Lover she expects than I.
So that I did not only Jealous grow,
Of all I saw; but all I fancy'd too.
The COMPLAINT.
I.
Oft in my Jealous Transports I wou'd cry,
Ye happy shades, ye happy Bow'rs,
Why speaks she tenderer things to you than me?
Why does she Smile, carress and praise your Flowers?
Why Sighs she (opening Buds) her Secrets all
Into your fragrant Leaves?
Why does she to her Aid your sweetness call,
Yet take less from you than she gives?
Why on your Beds must you be happy made,
And be together with Aminta laid?
You from her Hands and Lips may KISSES take,
And never meet Reproaches from her Pride;
A thousand Ravishing stealths may make,
And even into her softer Bosome glide.
And there expire! Oh happy Rival flowers,
How vainly do I wish my Fate like that of Yours?
II.
Tell me, ye silent Groves, whose Gloom invites,
The lovely Charmer to your Solitudes?
Tell me for whom she languishes and sighs?
For whom she feels her soft Inquietudes?
Name me the Youth for whom she makes her Vows,
For she has breath'd it oft amongst your listening Boughs?
Oh happy confidents of her Amours,
How vainly do I wish my Fortune blest as Yours.
III.