TELL me, my dear, what moves thy ruthless mind
To be so cruel, seeing thou art so fair?
Did Nature frame thy beauty so unkind;
Or dost thou scorn to pity my despair?
O no, it was not Nature's ornament,
But wingèd LOVE's impartial cruel wound,
Which in my heart is ever permanent,
Until my CHLORIS makes me whole and sound.
O glorious Love-God, think on my heart's grief!
Let not thy vassal pine through deep disdain!
By wounding CHLORIS, I shall find relief;
If thou impart to her some of my pain.
She doth thy temples and thy shrines abject!
They with AMINTA's flowers by me are decked.