THE COMPLAINT

by: Mark Akenside (1721-1770)

WAY! away!

Tempt me no more, insidious Love:

Thy soothing sway

Long did my youthful bosom prove:

At length thy treason is discern'd,

At length some dear-bought caution earn'd:

Away! nor hope my riper age to move.

 

I know, I see

Her merit. Needs it now be shown,

Alas! to me?

How often, to myself unknown,

The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid

Have I admired! How often said--

What joy to call a heart like hers one's own!

 

But, flattering god,

O squanderer of content and ease

In thy abode

Will care's rude lesson learn to please?

O say, deceiver, hast thou won

Proud Fortune to attend thy throne,

Or placed thy friends above her stern decrees?

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