To J. G.

Tell me you Hate; and Flatter me no more:
By Heaven I do not wish you should adore;
With humbler Blessings, I content can be,
I only beg, that you would pity me;
In as much Silence as I first designed,
To bear the Raging Torture of my Mind;
For when your Eyes first made my Heart your Slave,
I thought t'have hid my Fetters in my Grave:
Heaven witness for me, that I strove to hide
My violent Love, and my fond Eyes did chide
For glancing at thee; and my Blushes hid,
With as much care as ever Virgin did.
And though I languished in the greatest pain
That e'er despairing Lover did sustain;
I ne'er in public did let fall a Tear,
Nor breathed a Sigh i'th' reach of any Ear:
Yet I in private, drew no Breath but Sighs,
And Show'rs of Tears fell from my wretched Eyes:
The Lillies left my Front(1), the Rose my Cheeks,
My Nights were spent in Sobs and sudden Shrieks,
I felt my strength Insensibly decayed,
And Death approach; but ah! then you conveyed
Soft Am'rous tales into my list'ning Ears,
And gentle Vows, and well-becoming Tears,
Then deeper Oaths, nor e'er your Siege removed
Till I confessed my Flame, and owned I loved:
Your kinder Smiles had raised my Flames so high,
That all at Distance might the Fire Descry,(2)
I took no care my Passion to suppress,
Nor hide the Love I thought I did possess:
But ah! too late I find, your Love was such
As Gallants pay in course, or scarce so much:
You Shun my sight, you feed me with delays,
You slight, affront, a Thousand several ways
You do Torment with Studied Cruelty,
And yet alternately you Flatter me.
Oh! if you Love not, plainly say you hate,
And give my Miseries a shorter date,
'Tis Kinder than to Linger out my Fate;
And yet I could with less regret have Died,
A Victim to your Coldness, than your Pride.
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