And must my , must my faithful Swain,
Be forc'd, you cry'd, to a remoter Plain!
The Darling of my Soul so soon remov'd?
The only valu'd, and the best belov'd.
Tho' other Swains to me themselves address'd,
was still distinguish'd from the rest:
Flat and insipid all their Courtship seem'd,
Little themselves, their Passions less esteem'd.
For my aversion with their Flames increas'd,
And none but  partial  pleas'd.
Tho' I'm depriv'd of my kind Shepherd's sight,
Joy of the Day, and Blessing of the Night;
Yet will you , will you love me still?
However flatter me, and say you will.
For should you entertain a Rival Love,
Should you unkind to me, or faithless prove,
No Mortal e'er could half so wretched be,
For sure no Mortal ever lov'd like me.