The cold that freez'd you so, did strike me dead.

[12]

SONG.

Amyntas go, thou art undone,

Thy faithful heart is cross'd by fate;

That love is better not begun,

Where love is come to love too late.[43]

Had she professèd[44] hidden fires,

Or show'd one[45] knot that tied her heart,

I could have quench'd my first desires,

And we had only met to part.

But, tyrant, thus to murder men,

And shed a lover's harmless blood,

And burn him in those flames again,

Which he at first might have withstood.

Yet, who that saw fair Chloris weep

Such sacred dew, with such pure[46] grace;

Durst think them feignèd tears, or seek

For treason in an angel's face.

This is her art, though this be true,

 Prev. P 45/410 next