SONG.

PHillis, you have enough enjoy'd
The pleasures of Disdain;
Methinks your pride shou'd now be cloy'd,
And grow it self again:
Open to Love your long shut Brest,
And entertain it's sweetest Guest.

Love that can heal the wounds he gives,
And can ill usage slight;
May laugh at all that Fate contrives,
Full of it's own delight,
For in his Chains w'are happier far,
Then Kings themselves without 'em are.

Leave then to tame Philosophy
The joyes of quietness;
With me into Loves Empire fly,
And taste my happiness:
Where even Tears and Sighs can show,
Pleasures the cruel never know.