Cloe Jealous

Forbear to ask Me, why I weep;

Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said:

'Tis for my Two poor stragling Sheep

Perhaps, or for my Squirrel dead.

For mind I what You late have writ?

Your subtle Questions, and Replies;

Emblems, to teach a Female Wit

The Ways, where changing Cupid flies.

Your Riddle, purpos'd to rehearse

The general Pow'r that Beauty has:

But why did no peculiar Verse

Describe one Charm of Cloe's Face?

The Glass, which was at Venus' Shrine,

With such Mysterious Sorrow laid:

The Garland (and You call it Mine)

Which show'd how Youth and Beauty fade.

Ten thousand Trifles light as These

Nor can my Rage, nor Anger move:

She shou'd be humble, who wou'd please:

And She must suffer, who can love.

When in My Glass I chanc'd to look;

Of Venus what did I implore?

That ev'ry Grace which thence I took,

Shou'd know to charm my Damon more.

Reading Thy Verse; who heeds, said I,

If here or there his Glances flew?

O free for ever be His Eye,

Whose Heart to Me is always true.

My Bloom indeed, my little Flow'r

Of Beauty quickly lost it's Pride:

For sever'd from it's Native Bow'r,

It on Thy glowing Bosom dy'd.

Yet car'd I not, what might presage

Or withering Wreath, or fleeting Youth:

Love I esteem'd more strong than Age,

And Time less permanent than Truth.

Why then I weep, forbear to know:

Fall uncontroll'd my Tears, and free:

O Damon, 'tis the only Woe,

I ever yet conceal'd from Thee.

The secret Wound with which I bleed

Shall lie wrapt up, ev'n in my Herse:

But on my Tomb-stone Thou shalt read

My Answer to Thy dubious Verse.