Tixall Poetry/A Dialogue

by unknown author

XII.

A Dialogue.

 

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Phillis.
Preethee tell me, faithlesse swaine,
Why didst thou such passion faine,
 On purpose to disceave me?
I noe sooner lov'd againe,
 But you began to leave me.

Strephon.
Phillis, we must blame our fate,
Kindnes hath a certaine date;

 But ere those ioyes we tasted,
You in peevishnes, or state,
 The time had almost wasted.

Phillis.
Twas my love did yours distroy,
Strephon, had I still been coy,
 I know you then would prize me;
Thinke you dreamt you did inioy,
 And then youll not dispise me.

Once againe your love persue,
And I my scorne too will renew,
 But passion doth soe sway me;
That could I my teares subdue,
 My sighs would soone betray me.

Strephon.
Sigh nor weepe noe more in vaine,
Nimph, your beauty soon will gaine
 A more deserving lover;
Slaves that once have broke there chaine,
 You seidome can recover.