Back to Index
A Dialogue Between Himself And Mistress Eliza Wheeler, Under the Name of Amaryllis
Her. My dearest love, since thou wilt go,
And leave me here behind thee,
For love or pity let me know
The place where I may find thee.
Ama. In country meadows pearl’d with dew,
And set about with lilies,
There, filling maunds with cowslips, you
May find your Amaryllis.
Her. What have the meads to do with thee,
Or with thy youthful hours?
Live thou at Court, where thou mayst be
The queen of men, not flowers.
Let country wenches make ’em fine
With posies, since ’tis fitter
For thee with richest gems to shine,
And like the stars to glitter.
Ama. You set too high a rate upon
A shepherdess so homely.
Her. Believe it, dearest, there’s not one
I’ th’ Court that’s half so comely.
I prithee stay. Ama. I must away;
Let’s kiss first, then we’ll sever.
Ambo. And though we bid adieu today,
We shall not part for ever.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.