A dismal Wood the Rivers Banks do bear, Securing even the day from entering there; The Suns bright Rays a passage cannot find, Whose Boughs make constant War against the Wind; Yet through their Leaves glimmers a sullen Light; Which renders all below more terrible than Night, And shows upon the Bark of every Tree, Sad stories carv’d of Love and Cruelty; The Grove is fill’d with Sighs, with Crys, and Groans, Reproaches and Complaints in dying Moans; The Neighbouring Eccho’s nothing do repeat, But what the Soul sends forth with sad regret; And all things there no other Murmurs make, But what from Language full of death they take, ‘Twas in this place dispairing ere to free _Aminta_ from the Arms of _Cruelty,_ That I design’d to render up my Breath, And charge the cruel Charmer with my Death. The RESOLVE. _Now, my fair Tyrant, I despise your Pow’r;_ _’.is Death, not you becomes my Conqueror;_ _This easy Trophy which your scorn_ _Led bleeding by your Chariot-side,_ _Your haughty Victory to adorn,_ _Has broke the Fetters of your Pride,_ _Death takes his quarrel now in hand,_ _And laughs at all your Eyes can do;_ _His pow’r thy Beauty can withstand,_ _Not all your Smiles can the grim victor bow._ _He’ll hold no Parley with your Wit,_ _Nor understands your wanton play,_ _Not all your Arts can force him to submit,_ _Not all your Charms can teach him to obey;_ _Your youth nor Beauty can inspire,_ _His frozen Heart with_ Love’s _perswasive fire;_ _Alas, you cannot warm him to one soft desire;_ _Oh mighty Death that art above,_ _The pow’r of Beauty or of_ Love! Thus sullen with my Fate sometimes I grew, And then a fit of softness wou’d ensue, Then weep, and on my Knees implore my Fair, And speak as if _Aminta present were_. The QUESTION. _Say, my fair Charmer, must I fall,_ _A Victim to your Cruelty?_ _And must I suffer as a Criminal?_ _Is it to_ Love _offence enough to dye?_ _Is this the recompence at last,_ _Of all the restless hours I’ve past?_ _How oft my Awe, and my Respect,_ _Have fed your Pride and Scorn?_ _How have I suffered your neglect,_ _Too mighty to be born?_ _How have I strove to hide that flame_ _You seem’d to disapprove?_ _How careful to avoid the name_ _Of Tenderness or_ Love? _Least at that Word some guilty Blush shou’d own,_ _What your bright Eyes forbad me to make known._