Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Into Some Desart Let Me Go
Thomas Flatman (1635-1688), "The Fatigue. A Song," in his Poems and Songs, 4th ed. (London: Benjamin Tooke, 1686), pp. 106-107:
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A Dieu fond World, and all thy Wiles,
Thy haughty frowns, and treacherous smiles,
They that behold thee with my eyes,
Thy double dealing will despise:
From thee, false World, my deadly Foe,
Into some Desart let me go;
Some gloomy melancholy Cave,
Dark and silent as the Grave,
Let me withdraw; where I may be
From thine impertinencies free:
There when I hear the Turtle grone,
How sweetly would I make my mone!
Kind Philomel would teach me there
My sorrows pleasantly to bear:
There could I correspond with none
But Heaven, and my own breast alone.
