A Song Go Tell Amynta, Gentle Swain

1.

Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,

I would not die, nor dare complain.

Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,

Thy voice will more prevail than mine;

For souls opprest and dumb with grief,

The gods ordain'd this kind relief.

That music should in sounds convey

What dying lovers dare not say.

2.

A sigh or tear perhaps she'll give,

But love on pity cannot live:

Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid,

Tell her my pains so fast increase

That soon it will be past redress;

For the wretch that speechless lies,

Attends but death to close his eyes.

Appears in Dryden's Poems published by Tonson in 1701.