"His Eye with Pleasure on my Face he keeps,
"He Smiles my Smiles, and when I Weep he Weeps.
"When e'er I Speak, his moving Lips appear
"To utter something which I cannot hear.
"Ah wretched me! I now begin too late
"To find out all the long-perplex'd Deceit;
"It is my self I love, my self I see;
"The gay Delusion is a Part of me.
"I kindle up the Fires by which I burn,
"And my own Beauties from the Well return.
"Whom should I Court? how utter my Complaint?
"Enjoyment but produces my Restraint,
"And too much Plenty makes me die for Want.
"How gladly would I from my self remove!
"And at a distance set the Thing I love.
"My Breast is warm'd with such unusual Fire,
"I wish him absent whom I most desire.
"And now I faint with Grief; my Fate draws nigh;
"In all the Pride of blooming Youth I die.
"Death will the Sorrows of my Heart relieve.
"Oh might the Visionary Youth survive,
"I should with Joy my latest Breath resign!
"But oh! I see his Fate involv'd in mine.
This said the weeping Youth again return'd
To the clear Fountain, where again he burn'd;
His Tears defac'd the Surface of the Well,
With Circle after Circle, as they fell:
And now the lovely Face but half appears,
O'er-run with Wrinkles, and deform'd with Tears.
"Ah whither, cries Narcissus, dost thou fly?
"Let me still feed the Flame by which I die;
"Let me still see, tho' I'm no further blest.
Then rends his Garment off, and beats his Breast:
His naked Bosom redden'd with the Blow,
In such a Blush as purple Clusters show,
E're