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Cord.
Distressed pilgrim, whose dark clouded eyes
Speak
thee a martyr to love's cruelties,
Whither away?
Amor. What pitying voice I hear,
Calls back my flying
steps?
Cord. Pr'ythee, draw near.
Amor. I shall
but say, kind swain, what doth become
Of a lost
heart, ere to Elysium
It wounded walks?
Cord.
First, it does freely flye
Into the pleasures of a
lover's eye;
But, once condemn'd to scorn, it
fetter'd lies,
An ever-bowing slave to tyrannies.
Amor. I pity its sad fate, since its offence
Was but
for love. Can tears recall it thence?
Cord. O no,
such tears, as do for pity call,
She proudly scorns,
and glories at their fall.
Amor. Since neither sighs
nor tears, kind shepherd, tell,
Will not a kiss
prevail?
Cord. Thou may'st as well
Court Eccho
with a kiss.
Amor. Can no art move
A sacred
violence to make her love?
Cord. O no! 'tis only
Destiny or Fate
Fashions our wills either to love or
hate.
Amor. Then, captive heart, since that no humane
spell
Hath power to graspe thee his, farewell.
Cord. Farewell.
Cho. Lost hearts, like lambs drove
from their folds by fears,
May back return by chance,
but not by tears.]
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