Is that love? Forsooth, I trow,
If I saw my good dog grievèd,
And a help for him did know;
My love should not be believèd,
But he were by me relievèd.
No, she hates me, welaway!
Feigning love somewhat to please me:
For she knows, if she display
All her hate; death would soon seize me,
And of hideous torments ease me.
Then adieu, dear flock! adieu!
But, alas, if in your straying,
Heavenly STELLA meet with you:
Tell her in your piteous blaying,
Her poor slave's unjust decaying.
TENTH SONG.
Dear life! when shall it be
That mine eyes, thine eyes may see?
And in them, thy mind discover,
Whether absence have had force
Thy remembrance to divorce
From the image of the lover?
Or if I myself find not,
After parting ought forgot;
Nor be barred from Beauty's treasure;
Let no tongue aspire to tell
In what high joys I shall dwell.
Only Thought aims at the pleasure.
