_A Sweetheart whom I lov'd, and he lov'd me, Intoxicated with Cursed Jealousie, Without a Cause, my Innocence did slight, Which urged soon my Passion thus to write, Kind Health, which you, and only you can grant, Which, if deny'd, I must for ever want; To you your Lover sends; but blushing Shame, In silence bids my Paper hide my Name. Witness what Pains (for you alone can know) Poor helpless I do bear and undergo; A thousand Racks and Martyrdoms, and more Than a weak Virgin can be thought, I bore: You rule alone my Arbitrary Fate, And Life and on your disposal wait. How little more remains for me to crave! How little more for you to give! O save A wretched Maid undone by Love and you, Who does in Tears and dying Accents sue; Who bleeds that Passion she had ne'er reveal'd, If not by Love, Almighty Love compell'd:_ No ever let her mournful Tomb complain, Here _Phillis_, kill'd by your cold Disdain; And to her Honour let it e'er be said, She dy'd a faithful Lover, yet a Maid. _The Thirteenth P----._ Blessed with Beauty, Money, Youth and Wit, I'm daily plagu'd with some Penurious Cit, But e'er I will to such be forc'd to yield, To a Man of Sense I Will resign the Field, For Men of Breeding more of Love can show, Than dull Mechanicks e'er can learn or know. _The Fourteenth P----._ A Maid can scarce into a Service get, But Prentice Boys (void both of Sense and Wit) Will lead the Servant such a tedious Life, To Change the Name of Maid to that of Wife, That she, to shun their solid Impudence, Must leave her Service in her own Defence. _Fifteenth P----._