The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume Ii Part 14

2 While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our sh.o.r.e, The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more: The soft G.o.d of pleasure, that warm'd our desires, Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires; And vows that himself and his mother will mourn, Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.

3 Forbear your addresses, and court us no more; For we will perform what the Deity swore: But if you dare think of deserving our charms, Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms; Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn, When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx return.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 44: Intended to apply to the banishment of King James and his wife, Mary of Este.]

VI.

A SONG.

1 Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize Reserved for your victorious eyes: From crowds, whom at your feet you see, O pity, and distinguish me!

As I from thousand beauties more Distinguish you, and only you adore.

2 Your face for conquest was design'd, Your every motion charms my mind; Angels, when you your silence break, Forget their hymns, to hear you speak; But when at once they hear and view, Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you.

3 No graces can your form improve, But all are lost, unless you love; While that sweet pa.s.sion you disdain, Your veil and beauty are in vain: In pity then prevent my fate, For after dying all reprieve's too late.

VII.

A SONG.

High state and honours to others impart, But give me your heart: That treasure, that treasure alone, I beg for my own.

So gentle a love, so fervent a fire, My soul does inspire; That treasure, that treasure alone, I beg for my own.

Your love let me crave; Give me in possessing So matchless a blessing; That empire is all I would have.

Love's my pet.i.tion, All my ambition; If e'er you discover So faithful a lover, So real a flame, I'll die, I'll die, So give up my game.

VIII.

RONDELAY.

1 Chloe found Amyntas lying, All in tears upon the plain; Sighing to himself, and crying, Wretched I, to love in vain!

Kiss me, dear, before my dying; Kiss me once, and ease my pain!

2 Sighing to himself, and crying, Wretched I, to love in vain!

Ever scorning and denying To reward your faithful swain: Kiss me, dear, before my dying; Kiss me once, and ease my pain:

3 Ever scorning, and denying To reward your faithful swain: Chloe, laughing at his crying, Told him, that he loved in vain: Kiss me, dear, before my dying; Kiss me once, and ease my pain!

4 Chloe, laughing at his crying, Told him, that he loved in vain: But repenting, and complying, When he kiss'd, she kiss'd again: Kiss'd him up before his dying; Kiss'd him up, and eased his pain.

IX.

A SONG.

1 Go tell Amynta, gentle swain, I would not die, nor dare complain: Thy tuneful voice with numbers join, Thy words will more prevail than mine.

To souls oppress'd and dumb with grief, The G.o.ds ordain this kind relief; That music should in sounds convey, What dying lovers dare not say.

2 A sigh or tear perhaps she'll give, But love on pity cannot live.

Tell her that hearts for hearts were made, And love with love is only paid.

Tell her my pains so fast increase, That soon they will be past redress; But ah! the wretch that speechless lies, Attends but death to close his eyes.

X.

A SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF TOWN IN THE SPRING.

1 Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring So long delays her flowers to bear; Why warbling birds forget to sing, And winter storms invert the year: Chloris is gone, and fate provides To make it Spring, where she resides.

2 Chloris is gone, the cruel fair; She cast not back a pitying eye; But left her lover in despair, To sigh, to languish, and to die: Ah, how can those fair eyes endure To give the wounds they will not cure?

3 Great G.o.d of love, why hast thou made A face that can all hearts command, That all religions can evade, And change the laws of every land?

Where thou hadst placed such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.

4 When Chloris to the temple comes, Adoring crowds before her fall; She can restore the dead from tombs, And every life but mine recall.

I only am by Love design'd To be the victim for mankind.

XI.