RYTHEE now, fond fool, give o'er; Since my heart is gone before,
To what purpose should I stay? Love commands another way.
Perjur'd fwain, I knew the time When diffembling was your crime, In pity now employ that art, Which first betray'd, to case my
STREP HON.
Women can with pleasure feign: Men diffemble ftill with pain.
What advantage will it prove, If I lye, who cannot love?
Tell me then the reason, why Love from hearts in love does fly? Why the bird will build a neft, Where the ne'er intends to reft? STRE PHON
Love, like other little boys, Cries for hearts, as they for toys : Which when gain'd, in childish play, Wantonly are thrown away.
Still on wing, or on his knees, Love does nothing by degrees: Bafely flying when most priz'd, Meanly fawning when defpis'd. Flattering or infulting ever, Generous and grateful never : All his joys are fleeting dreams, All his woes fevere extremes.
STREP HON.
Nymph, unjustly you inveigh; Love, like us, muft Fate obey. Since 'tis Nature's law to change, Conftancy alone is strange.
See the heavens in lightnings break, Next in storms of thunder speak ; Till a kind rain from above
Makes a calm---fo 'tis in love.
Flames begin our first address, Like meeting thunder we embrace : Then, you know, the showers that fall Quench the fire, and quiet all.
How should I the fhowers forget? 'Twas fo pleasant to be wet! They kill'd love, I knew it well. I dy'd all the while they fell. Say at least what nymph it is,
breaft of fo much blifs ? If the 's fair, I fhall be cas'd,
Through my ruin you 'll be pleas'd.
STREPHON.
Daphne never was so fair, Strephon, fcarcely, fo fincere. Gentle, innocent, and free, Ever pleas'd with only me. Many charms my heart enthral, But there's one above them all : With averfion, she does fly Tedious, trading, conftancy.
DAPHN E.
Cruel fhepherd! I fubmit,
Do what love and you think fit: Change is fate, and not defign. Say you would have still been mine.
STREP HON.
Nymph, I cannot 'tis too true, Change has greater charms than you.
Be, by my example, wife;
Faith to pleasure facrifice.
DAPHNE.
Silly fwain, I'll have you know, 'Twas my practice long ago: Whilft you vainly thought me true, I was falfe, in fcorn of you. By my tears, my heart's disguise, I thy love and thee despise. Womankind more joy difcovers Making fools, than keeping lovers.
Scorch'd up with love, froze with disdain, Of killing fweetness I complain.
STREPHON.
If 'tis Corinna, die.
Since firft my dazzled eyes were thrown
On that bewitching face,
Like ruin'd birds robb'd of their young,
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