Which has seized on my panter since thou didst depart;
Didst thou hear but my sighs, my complaining and groans,
Thou’dst surely retoure[314] and pity my moans;
Thou’dst give me new pleasure for all my past pain,
And I should rejoice in thy glaziers[315] again.
But, alas! ’tis my fear that the false Patri-coe[316]
Is reaping those transports are only my due:
Retoure my dear Doxy, oh, once more retoure,
And I’ll do all to please thee that lies in my pow’r;
Then be kind, my dear Dell, and pity my pain,