| |
| THERE’S no dallying with love | |
| Though he be a child and blind; | |
| Then let none the danger prove, | |
| Who would to himself be kind: | |
| Smile he does when thou dost play, | 5 |
| But his smiles to death betray. | |
| |
| Lately with the Boy I sported; | |
| Love I did not, yet love feigned; | |
| Had not mistress, yet I courted; | |
| Sigh I did, yet was not pained; | 10 |
| Till at last this love in jest, | |
| Proved in earnest my unrest. | |
| |
| When I saw my fair one first, | |
| In a feignèd fire I burned; | |
| But true flames my poor heart pierced, | 15 |
| When her eyes on mine she turned: | |
| So a real wound I took, | |
| For my counterfeited look. | |
| |
| Slighted Love, his skill to show, | |
| Struck me with a mortal dart; | 20 |
| Then I learnt that ’gainst his bow, | |
| Vain are the weak helps of art; | |
| And thus captiv’d, found that true | |
| Doth dissembled love pursue. | |
| |
| ’Cause his fetters I disclaimed, | 25 |
| Now the tyrant faster bound me; | |
| With more scorching brands inflamed, | |
| ’Cause in love so cold he found me: | |
| And my sighs more scalding made, | |
| ’Cause with winds before they played. | 30 |
| |
| None who loves not, then make shew, | |
| Love’s as ill deceived as Fate; | |
| Fly the Boy, he’ll cog and woo; | |
| Mock him, and he wounds thee straight. | |
| Ah! who dally, boast in vain; | 35 |
| False love wants not real pain. | |
| |
