Tixall Poetry/A Song ("All the flatteries of fate…")

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Tixall Poetry
edited by Arthur Clifford
A Song by unknown author
4304048Tixall PoetryA SongArthur Cliffordunknown author

III.

A Song


All the flatteries of fate,
Nor the pleasures of state,
Are nothing soe sweet as what love doth create:
If this you deny,
Tis time I should die,
Kind death's a reprieve when you threaten to hate.

In some shady grove,
Will I wander and rove,
With Philomell, and the disconsolate dove;
With downe hanging wing,
They mournfully sing,
The tragicke events of unfortunate love.

With my plaints He conspire,
To heighten loves fire,
Still vanquishing life, till at length I expire:
And when I am dead,
In some cold leavy bed,
Be interd with a dirge of that disolate quire.