I In vain, dear Youth, you say you love, And yet my Marks of Passion blame; Since Jealousie alone can prove, The surest Witness of my Flame: 5 And she who without that, a Love can vow, Believe me, Shepherd, does not merit you. II Then give me leave to doubt, that Fire I kindle, may another warm: A Face that cannot move Desire, 10 May serve at least to end the Charm: Love else were Witchcraft, that on malice bent, Denies ye Joys, or makes ye Impotent. III ’Tis true, when Cities are on fire, Men never wait for Christal Springs; 15 But to the Neighb’ring Pools retire; Which nearest, best Assistance brings; And serves as well to quench the raging Flame, As if from God-delighting Streams it came. IV A Fancy strong may do the Feat 20 Yet this to Love a Riddle is, And shows that Passion but a Cheat; Which Men but with their Tongues Confess, For ’Tis a Maxime in Loves learned School, Who blows the Fire, the flame can only Rule. V 25 Though Honour does your Wish deny, Honour! the Foe to your Repose; Yet ’Tis more Noble far to dye, Then break Loves known and Sacred Laws: What Lover wou’d pursue a single Game, 30 That cou’d amongst the Fair deal out his flame? VI Since then Lysander you desire, Amynta only to adore; Take in no Partners to your Fire, For who well Loves, that Loves one more? 35 And if such Rivals in your Heart I find, ’Tis in My Power to die, but not be kind.