68
SONGS.
It is to quench thy joy in tears;
To nurſe ſtrange doubts and groundleſs fears:
If pangs of jealouſy thou haſt not prov'd,
Tho' ſhe were fonder and more true
Than any nymph old poets drew,
Oh never dream again that thou haſt lov'd.
If when the darling maid is gone,
Thou doſt not ſeek to be alone,
Wrapt in a pleaſing trance of tender woe,
And muſe, and fold thy languid arms,
Feeding thy fancy on her charms,
Thou doſt not love, for love is nouriuſh'd ſo.
If any hopes thy boſom ſhare
But thoſe which love has planted there,
Or any cares but his thy breaſt enthrall,
