N. B. This is not render’d into English, but ’tis Ingratitude enough for two Servants, that have been well entertained a long while by their Master, should dance about a Prison Door, while their Master is in it.
On a Window at the Ram, Newmarket.
Come hither, dearest, sweetest Turtle-Dove;
You are my Goddess.—You alone I love.
At Night, whene’er I close my Eyes to Rest,
I dream of laying in your snow-white Breast.
But oft oppress’d with Grief and pensive Care,
I to enjoy such Happiness despair.
O wretched me! Celestial Pow’rs above!
O mighty Jove! what must I die for Love!