I Poor Lost Serena, to Bemoan The Rigor of her Fate, High’d to a Rivers-side alone, Upon whose Brinks she sat. 5 Her eyes, as if they would have spar’d, The Language of her Tongue, In Silent Tears a while declar’d The Sense of all her wrong. II But they alas too feeble were, 10 Her Grief was swoln too high To be Exprest in Sighs and Tears; She must or speak or dye. And thus at last she did complain, Is this the Faith, said she, 15 Which thou allowest me, Cruel Swain, For that I gave to thee? III Heaven knows with how much Innocence I did my Soul Incline To thy Soft Charmes of Eloquence, 20 And gave thee what was mine. I had not one Reserve in Store, But at thy Feet I lay’d Those Arms that Conquer’d heretofore, Tho’ now thy Trophies made. <target id="page_75" target-type="page">75</target>IV 25 Thy Eyes in Silence told their Tale Of Love in such a way, That ’twas as easie to Prevail, As after to Betray. And when you spoke my Listning Soul, 30 Was on the Flattery Hung: And I was lost without Controul, Such Musick grac’d thy Tongue. V Alas how long in vain you strove My coldness to divert! 35 How long besieg’d it round with Love, Before you won the Heart. What Arts you us’d, what Presents made, What Songs, what Letters writ: And left no Charm that cou’d invade, 40 Or with your Eyes or Wit. VI Till by such Obligations Prest, By such dear Perjuries won: I heedlessly Resign’d the rest, And quickly was undone. 45 For as my Kindling Flames increase, Yours glimeringly decay: The Rifled Joys no more can Please, That once oblig’d your Stay. VII Witness ye Springs, ye Meads and Groves, 50 Who oft were conscious made To all our Hours and Vows of Love; Witness how I’m Betray’d. Trees drop your Leaves, be Gay no more, Ye Rivers waste and drye: 55 Whilst on your Melancholy Shore, I lay me down and dye.