ABSTRACT
Damon I cannot blame your will, ’Twas Chance and not Design did kill; For whilst you did prepare your Charmes, On purpose Silvia to subdue: 5 I met the Arrows as they flew, And sav’d her from their harms. Alas she cannot make returnes, Who for a Swaine already Burnes; A Shepherd whom she does Caress: 10 With all the softest marks of Love, And ’tis in vaine thou seek’st to move, The cruel Shepherdess. Content thee with this Victory, Think me as faire and young as she: 15 I’le make thee Garlands all the day, And in the Groves we’l sit and sing; I’le Crown thee with the pride o’th’ Spring, When thou art Lord of May.
