Where pleasant Tales to me You told
Repeating Toys of Love.
But now you’ve left in Despair,
In Sorrow to remain,
Unto the Groves I will repair,
And to the Trees comglain.
The pretty Birds that round the Grove
Their Ecchoes sweet do sing,
Methought they all delighted were
As in the approaching Spring.
My quivering Heart was then betray’d
Alas, I they require,
In mournful Song to implre the Ray
Or else I must expire.
So Virgins all that are inclin’d
To Love ungrateful Man,
Before You take a special Care
How they your Hearts trapan.
For if a Man doth talk of Love,
With Caution him believe,
For if he Swears to Love Most true
He’ll surely Yov deceive.
The Mans Answer.
Fair Nymph do not complain,
Nor say I am Unkind,
My Love I am contented still
