To Amasia, who Commanded me to avoid her presence, whenever she appear'd

A strange Command I Have receiv'd of you,
You bid me sly, and yet you still pursue,
Where'er I go, or whatsoe'er I do,
For in my Breast, you, dear prevailing fair,
Have got possession, since you Conquer'd there.
You bid me fly, and yet too well you know,
That, while I live, I cannot e'er do so;
Sylvius as well may fly himself, as you.
Since I am vanquish'd, 'tis alas! too late
To think of safety by a forc'd retreat.
I wish to shun thee, but my Love denies,
I have a Heart, and you have Charming Eyes,
Nay, when you kill me, for that soon must be,
My Ghost shall haunt you, for your wrongs to me.
How shall I fly, how from thy Presence run?
I am the Fog, You, my attracting Sun.
As well the Needle from it's North might move,
For I, my fair, do with like tremblings Love.
Could I avoid thee, I should baseness show,
A mean, poor fear, and undeserving you.
So fly the Clouds, when by the light'nings torn,
And so fly Phantoms from the rising Morn.