Farewel, my little charming Boy! Farewel, my fond delight, My dear Instructor all the day, My soft repose at night. Thou, whom my Soul has so carest, And my poor Heart has held so fast, Thou never left me in my pain, Nor in my happier hours; Thou eas’d me when I did complain, And dry’d my falling showrs. When _Silvia_ frown’d still thou woud’st smile, And all my Cares and Griefs beguile. But _Silvia’s_ gone, and I have torn Her Witchcrafts from my Heart; And nobly fortify’d by scorn Her Empire will subvert; The Laws establish’d there destroy, And bid adieu to the dear charming Boy. In quitting _Love_ I was a great while before I could find _Disdain_, but I, at last, overtook him: He accompanyed me to a Village, where I received a Joy I had not known since my Arrival to the _Isle of Love_, and which Repose seemed the sweeter because it was new. When I came to this place, I saw all the World Easie, Idle, and at Liberty: This Village is like a Desart, and all the Inhabitants live within themselves, there is only one Gate, by which we enter into it from the _Isle of Love_. This place is called _Indifference_, and takes its Name from a Princess inhabiting there, a Person very fair and well made; but has a Grace and Meen of so little Wit, and seems so inutile and so silly, that it renders her even ridiculous. As soon as I arrived there, I called to my remembrance all those affronts and cheats of Love, that _Silvia_ had put upon me, and which now served for my diversion, and were agreeable thoughts to me; so that I called myself Ten thousand Sots and Fools for resenting ‘em; and that I did not heartily despise ‘em, laugh at ’.m, and make my Pleasure with the false One as well as the rest; for she dissembled well, and for ought I knew, ‘twas but dissembled Love she paid my Rivals. But I, forsooth, was too nice a Coxcomb, I cou’d not feed as others did, and be contented with such Pleasures as she cou’d afford, but I must ingross all, and unreasonably believe a Woman of Youth and Wit had not a longer Race of Love to run than to my Arms alone. Well, ‘tis now confest I was a Fool, nor could I hinder myself from saying a thousand times a day; That Coxcomb can ne’re be at ease, While Beauty inslaves his Soul. ‘Tis Liberty only can please, And he that’s Fetter’d is an Owl.