Thy luver heeds nought of thy sighs,
He lyes a corps on the Braes of Yarrow. 120
WILLIAM SOMERVILE
( 1675-1725-1742)
( 1675-1725-1742)
Presenting to a Lady a White Rose
and a Red, on the Tenth of June1
IF THIS pale Rose offend your Sight,
It in your Bosom wear;
'Twill blush to find itself less white,
And turn Lancastrian there.
| But, Celia, should the Red be chose, | 5 |
With gay Vermilion bright;
'Twou'd sicken at each Blush that glows,
And in Despair turn White.
Let Politicians idly prate,
| Their Babels build in vain; | 10 |
As uncontrolable as Fate,
Imperial Love shall reign.
Each haughty Faction shall obey,
And Whigs, and Tories join,
| Submit to your Despotick Sway, | 15 |
Yet this (my gracious Monarch) own,
They're Tyrants that oppress;
'Tis Mercy must support your Throne,
| And 'tis like Heav'n to Bless. | 20 |
1
Published in Occasional Poems, 1727. Text of first edition.
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