Tixall Poetry/Belinda
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LXVIII.
Belinda.
Shee is gon, gon for ever, the nimph I adore!
Now fortune and love can be cruell noe more;
Now, fate, I defie thee to punish me worse,
For without my Belinda my life's but a curse:
The thought of past pleasure increases my paine,
When I sadly reflect she will nere come againe.
Now fortune and love can be cruell noe more;
Now, fate, I defie thee to punish me worse,
For without my Belinda my life's but a curse:
The thought of past pleasure increases my paine,
When I sadly reflect she will nere come againe.
Belinda forsaken by him she loves best,
Returns all her scorne on her true lover's breast:
Philander in pitty to love her inclin'd,
Was banish'd, that Strephon againe might prove kind.
Soe he that loves ill, is fortunate made,
And he that loves well is for loving betraid.
Returns all her scorne on her true lover's breast:
Philander in pitty to love her inclin'd,
Was banish'd, that Strephon againe might prove kind.
Soe he that loves ill, is fortunate made,
And he that loves well is for loving betraid.