Meliton and Lily

Theee was a time when Flowers could speak more plain
Than Poets now do; and for once again
A Flower shall answer what a Poet said . .
Meliton he was, Lily was the maid.
Sit on this garden-bench and hear a song,
Maybe not tiresome, certainly not long.

MELITON.
Lily! why dost thou shower on me the gold
Off thy white bosom, dazzling to behold?
Must I confess to thee, another Flower
I love stil better at this very hour,
And she shall (if not over) place thee nigh
A bosom pure as thine, where never sigh
(I hope) shall shake thee, Lily! now goodbye,
Forgetting not, nor ready to disown
Thy friend of other days, thy Meliton.
Before thee, at an early season, burst
A Rose, and whispered low . . You loved me first.

LILY.
You are inconstant, now I know,
I often heard it long ago
But never thought to tell you so.
I need no blush; but every day
She blushes; yes, and well she may.
Pure let her be! well! who should care 'i
Is she, pray tell me, quite as fair?
You do not answer what I ask.
MELITON.
I dare not; it 's too hard a task.