Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/417

 COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 279 �Beyond the patience of all hearts, but mine. O! yett relent, fair, charming Maid relent, And pleasure, with her best supporter, wealth, Shall still be handmaids, to your matchlesse beauty. �Car. Name 'em no more, to her that's lost to both, Wealth I abandon' d, when I left my father, And fled his house, a vagabond for love. And as for pleasure, oh ! Rivalto, know, Tis so confin'd, with all its sweet attractions, To the dear person, of my faithlesse Blanfort, 140 �That since he's false, tis not in Fortune's pow'r To tempt my soul, with the deluding proffer. �Riv. Do all your joys, depend then on his truth. �Car. Yes, were he mine, as holy vows oblige him, And lay unmindfull of the fleeting hours, Stretch'd at my feet, 'till Phoebus left the skye, Breathing out sighs, soft as the southern winds, And printing on my hands, a thousand kisses, Then, cou'd I tell my soul in full delight, That this was pleasure, fitt for the immortals. 150 �But oh! they're past, those eager joys are past, And all extreams, to their own ruine haste. �Riv. No more! Marina, I will hear no more, By all the stars, that crosse my hopes, I will not. Why, shou'd you speak such fond, and moving things, And not for me, who know I best deserve them? Weigh but my services, against his youth, And when the beauty of his form persuades, Be just, and sett the dangers I have run To bring you here, from all your pow'rfull freinds 160 �Against that gaudy trifle of an hour. �Car. Vrge not those dangers, which you fondly sought To gratify your own, and not my passion. Oh ! had I known in Rome, your true dessign, ��� �