Now to my cost the force of love I find, The heavy hand it bears on human kind. The milk of tygers was his infant food, } Taught from his tender years the taste of blood; } His brother whelps and he ran wild about the wood. } Ah nymph, trained up in his tyrannic court, To make the sufferings of your slaves your sport! Unheeded ruin! treacherous delight! O polished hardness, softened to the sight! Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn, Like midnight those, and these like break of morn! Smile once again, revive me with your charms, And let me die contented in your arms. I would not ask to live another day, Might I but sweetly kiss my soul away. Ah, why am I from empty joys debarred? For kisses are but empty when compared. I rave, and in my raging fit shall tear The garland, which I wove for you to wear, Of parsley, with a wreath of ivy bound, And bordered with a rosy edging round. What pangs I feel, unpitied and unheard! Since I must die, why is my fate deferred! I strip my body of my shepherd's frock; Behold that dreadful downfal of a rock, Where yon old fisher views the waves from high! 'Tis that convenient leap I mean to try. You would be pleased to see me plunge to shore, But better pleased if I should rise no more. I might have read my fortune long ago, When, seeking my success in love to know, I tried the infallible prophetic way, A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay. I struck, and yet no lucky crack did follow; Yet I struck hard, and yet the leaf lay hollow; And, which was worse, if any worse could prove, The withering leaf foreshowed your withering love. Yet farther,--ah, how far a lover dares! My last recourse I had to sieve and sheers, And told the witch Agreo my disease: (Agreo, that in harvest used to lease; But, harvest done, to chare-work did aspire; Meat, drink, and two-pence was her daily hire;) To work she went, her charms she muttered o'er, } And yet the resty sieve wagged ne'er the more; } I wept for woe, the testy beldame swore, } And, foaming with her God, foretold my fate, That I was doomed to love, and you to hate. A milk-white goat for you I did provide; Two milk-white kids run frisking by her side, For which the nut-brown lass, Erithacis, Full often offered many a savoury kiss. Hers they shall be, since you refuse the price; What madman would o'erstand his market twice! My right eye itches, some good-luck is near, } Perhaps my Amaryllis may appear; } I'll set up such a note as she shall hear. } What nymph but my melodious voice would move? She must be flint, if she refuse my love. Hippomenes, who ran with noble strife }