III.
Sad Eyes! What do you ail,
To be thus ill disposed?
Why doth your sleeping fail,
Now all men's else are closed?
Was't I, that ne'er did bow
In any servile duty!
And will you make me, now,
A slave to Love and Beauty?
What though my Mistress smile,
And in her love affects thee!
Let not her eye beguile;
I fear she disrespects thee!
Do not, poor Heart! depend
On those vain thoughts that fill thee!
They'll fail thee, in the end!
So must thy Passions kill thee!
What hopes have I, that She
Will hold her favours ever;
When so few women be
That constant can persèver?
Whate'er She do protest!
When fortunes do deceive me,
Then She, with all the rest,
I fear, alas, will leave me!
Whil'st Youth, and Strength remains,
With Art that may commend her;
Perhaps, She nought disdains
Her Servant should attend her.
But it is one to ten,
If crosses overtake me,
She will not know me, then;
But scorn, and so forsake me!
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 Passions' torments prove me?
To hear her say, at length,
Away! I cannot love thee!
O, rather let me die
Whil'st 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 feignèd,
Would rob me of more rest
Than e'er could be regainèd.
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!