html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Chloris, I justly am betray'd
By a Design my self had laid;
Like an old Rook, whom in his Cheat,
A Run of Fortune does defeat.
I thought at first with a small Sum
Of Love, thy heap to overcome;
Presuming on thy want of Art,
Thy gentle and unpractis'd Heart.
But naked Beauty can prevail,
Like open force, when Plots do fail.
Instead of that thou hast all mine,
And I have not one Stake of thine:
And, like all Winners, do'st discover
A willingness to give me over.
And though I beg, thou wilt not now;
'Twere better thou should'st do so too:
For I so far in Debt shall run,
Even thee I shall be forc't to shun.
My Hand, alas, is no more mine,
Else it had long ago been thine:
My Heart I give thee, and we call
No Man unjust that parts with all.
What a Priest says, moves not the mind,
Souls are by Love, not Words, combin'd.