Oweep not, Lady, weep not fo; Let not vain forrow rive thy heart, O do not, do not, boly Friar, Weep no more, Lady, weep no more, Thy forrow is in vain: For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers Will ne'er make grow again, Our joys as winged dreams do fly, O fay not fo, thou holy Friar, For fince my true-love dy'd, for me, 130 And will he ne'er come again? Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave. For ever to remain. His cheek was redder than the rofe; Sigh no more, Lady, figh no more, One foot on fea and one on land, Hadft thou been fond, he had been false, For young men ever were fickle found, Now fay not fo, thou holy Friar, My love he has the trueft heart: O he was ever true! And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, Then farewel home; for evermore But first upon my true-love's grave My weary limbs I'll lay, And thrice I'll kifs the green-grafs turf, That wraps his breathless elay. Yet ftay, fair Lady, rest a while Beneath this cloyster wall: See, through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzly rain doth fall. O stay me not, thou holy Friar! No drizzly rain that falls on me Yet ftay, fair Lady, turn again, Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love, These holy weeds I fought; And here amid thefe lonely walls To end my days I thought. But haply, for my year of grace Might I still hope to win thy love, No longer would I stay. Now farewel grief, and welcome joy Once more unto my heart : For fince I have found thee, lovely youth, A TA L E. BY WILLIAM MELMOTH, ES2 ERE Saturn's fons were yet difgrac'd, And heathen gods were all the taste, It chanc'd, as once with ferious ken He paus'd---when from amidst the sky, With one united zeal arofe, The triple tyrants to oppose. That inftant from the realms of day, The artful tale that Wit had feign'd, The dame who own'd, adorn'd' the place; And foft Amafia was her name. In fprightly fenfe and polish'd air, Did unrefifted love inspire. M A |