The Repulse.
Not that by this disdain
I am releas’d,
And, freed from thy romantic[37:1] chain,
Do I myself think blest;
Not that thy flame shall burn5
No more; for know
That I shall into ashes turn
Before this fire doth so.
Nor yet that unconfin’d
I now may rove,10
And with new beauties please my mind;
But that thou ne’er didst love!
For since thou hast no part
Felt of this flame,
I only from thy tyrant heart15
Repuls’d, not banish’d, am.
To lose what once was mine
Would grieve me more
Than those inconstant sweets of thine
Had pleas’d my soul before.20
Now I’ve not lost that[37:2] bliss
I ne’er possessed;
And, spite of Fate, am blest in this:
That I was never blest.
Song.