Aphra Behn
While my sad Muse the darkest Covert Sought, To give a loose to Melancholy Thought; Opprest, and sighing with the Heavy Weight
A thousand Martyrs I have made, All sacrific'd to my desire; A thousand Beauties have betray'd,
This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument, Contains all that was sweet and innocent ; The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,
Love in Fantastique Triumph satt, Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd, For whom Fresh pains he did create,
How, to thy Sacred Memory, shall I bring (Worthy thy Fame) a grateful Offering? I, who by Toils of Sickness, am become
Mourn, mourn, ye Muses, all your loss deplore, The young, the noble Strephon is no more. Yes, yes, he fled quick as departing light,
Oh love! that stronger art than Wine, Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine, Wont to be priz'd above all Wealth,
Love in fantastic triumph sate Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, For whom fresh pains he did create
Love in fantastic triumph sat, Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, For whom fresh pains he did create,
1. One Day the Amarous Lisander, By an impatient Passion sway'd,
All trembling in my arms Aminta lay, Defending of the bliss I strove to take; Raising my rapture by her kind delay,
A thousand martyrs I have made, All sacrificed to my desire, A thousand beauties have betray'd
Who made love to me, Imagin'd more than woman. Fair lovely Maid, or if that Title be
