To MYRA. SONG.
FOolish Love, begone, said I,
Vain are thy Attempts on me,
Thy soft Allurements I defie;
Women, those fair Dissemblers, fly;
My Heart is not made for thee.
Love heard, and strait prepar'd a Dart:
Myra, revenge my Cause, said he.
Too sure 'twas shot; I feel the Smart,
It rends my Brain, and tears my Heart:
O Love! my Conqueror, pity me.