1. I'm told th

Thy windows rarely now infest, Nor break thy gates, nor placid rest,

Impertinent, in riot;

Thy door once kindly pleas'd to move
On pliant hinge, begins to love

And hugs her threshold quiet.

2, And lefs and less-you hear in song, "Thy faithful lover weeps,

3.

&ills

35

3

"Ah! perishing the cold night long

19

"My cruel Lydia fleeps,

Now thou in turn, fhalt weep and burn,

Decay'd, and vain, in porch or lane,

And

And hear the taunts of proud gallants,

And in tempestuous low'r

The Southern raging o'er the plain,
e‡
Most in the loweft lunar wane,

And plying late without a mate,

Shalt ftand the drenching fhow'r.

5. What flagrant luft of blood, and flame Infuriates the filly's dam

+ In vernal maddeft roam; Shall at thy fervid marrow lie, And in thy ulcer'd liver fry

15

20

1

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