Forbear to ask Me, why I weep; br Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said: br 'Tis for my Two poor stragling Sheep br Perhaps, or for my Squirrel dead. br For mind I what You late have writ? br Your subtle Questions, and Replies; br Emblems, to teach a Female Wit br The Ways, where changing Cupid flies. br Your Riddle, purpos'd to rehearse br The general Pow'r that Beauty has: br But why did no peculiar Verse br Describe one Charm of Cloe's Face? br The Glass, which was at Venus' Shrine, br With such Mysterious Sorrow laid: br The Garland (and You call it Mine) br Which show'd how Youth and Beauty fade. br Ten thousand Trifles light as These br Nor can my Rage, nor Anger move: br She shou'd be humble, who wou'd please: br And She must suffer, who can love. br When in My Glass I chanc'd to look; br Of Venus what did I implore? br That ev'ry Grace which thence I took, br Shou'd know to charm my Damon more. br br Reading Thy Verse; who heeds, said I, br If here or there his Glances flew? br O free for ever be His Eye, br Whose Heart to Me is always true. br My Bloom indeed, my little Flow'r br Of Beauty quickly lost it's Pride: br For sever'd from it's Native Bow'r, br It on Thy glowing Bosom dy'd. br Yet car'd I not, what might presage br Or withering Wreath, or fleeting Youth: br Love I esteem'd more strong than Age, br And Time less permanent than Truth. br Why then I weep, forbear to know: br Fall uncontroll'd my Tears, and free: br O Damon, 'tis the only Woe, br I ever yet conceal'd from Thee. br The secret Wound with which I bleed br Shall lie wrapt up, ev'n in my Herse: br But on my Tomb-stone Thou shalt read br My Answer to Thy dubious Verse.