To Lysander

X

She has thee all: whilst I with silent Greif,

The Fragments of they Softness feel,

Yet dare not blame the happy licenc’d Thief:

That does my Dear-bought Pleasures steal.

XI

Whilst like a Glimering Taper still I burn,

And waste my self in my own flame,

Adraste takes the welcome rich Return:

And leaves me all the hopeless Pain.

XII

Be just, my lovely Swain, and do not take

Freedoms you’ll not to me allow;

Or give Amynta so much Freedom back:

That she may Rove as well as you.