CXIV.

LOVE ARMED.

SONG.

APHRA BEHN 1642-1689.

L

OVE in fantastic triumph sat,

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed,

For whom fresh pains he did create,

And strange tyrannic power he showed.
From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about in sport he hurled;

But 'twas from mine he took desire
Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,

And every killing dart from thee;
Thus thou and I the god have armed,
And set him up a deity;

But my poor heart alone is harmed,

Whilst thine the victor is, and free.

CXV.

OH

PHILLADA.

H! what a pain is love :
How shall I bear it?

She will unconstant prove,

I greatly fear it.

She so torments my mind,

That my strength faileth,

And wavers with the wind
As a ship saileth:
Please her the best I may,
She loves still to gainsay:

Alack and well-a-day!
Phillada flouts me.

All the fair yesterday
She did pass by me,
She looked another way

And would not spy me:

I woo'd her for to dine,

But could not get her;

Will had her to the wine-

He might intreat her.

ANON. 1658.

With Daniel she did dance,
On me she looked askance :
Oh! thrice unhappy chance;
Phillada flouts me.

Fair maid! be not so coy,

Do not disdain me!

I am my mother's joy:

Sweet! entertain me!
She'll give me when she dies
All that is fitting:
Her poultry and her bees,
And her goose sitting,

A pair of mattrass beds,
And a bag full of shreds;
And yet, for all this guedes,
Phillada flouts me.

She hath a clout of mine,

Wrought with blue coventry,

Which she keeps for a sign

Of my fidelity:

But, 'faith, if she flinch,

She shall not wear it ;

To Tib, my t' other wench,

I mean to bear it.

And yet it grieves my heart
So soon from her to part:

Death strike me with his dart!
Phillada flouts me.

Thou shalt eat crudded cream
All the year lasting,

And drink the crystal stream
Pleasant in tasting,

Whig and whey whilst thou lust,
And ramble-berries,

Pie-lid and pastry crust,

Pears, plums, and cherries;

Thy raiment shall be thin,

Made of a weevil's skin-

Yet all's not worth a pin:
Phillada flouts me.

Fair maiden! have a care,

And in time take me;

I can have those as fair,

If you forsake me: For Doll the dairy maid

Laughed at me lately,

And wanton Winifred

Favours me greatly.

One throws milk on my clothes, T'other plays with my nose : What wanting signs are those! Phillada flouts me.

I cannot work nor sleep
At all in season:

Love wounds my heart so deep,
Without all reason.

I 'gin to pine away

In my love's shadow, Like as a fat beast may

Penned in a meadow.

I shall be dead, I fear,
Within this thousand year:
And all for that my dear

Phillada flouts me.