Classic Poem

Menga, a Shepheardesse, neare these Brooks borne ,
(Wonder o'th'earth, and envy of the morne,)
Sad and asham'd complaines of her hard fate;
For beauty seldome proves more fortunate.
Love whose soft chaines she freely did dispence
To all, at last ensnar'd her innocence.
Anton, a Swaine, that many other eyes
Attracted, was to hers a sacrifice;
Nor slights she his affection, though she feare
Their envy who for him like passions beare.
Teresa's love she knowes to him enclin'd ,
A Nymph though faire, yet wanton as the wind:
Favours and gifts she never yet withstood,
Inconstancy deriving with her bloud:
All that shee sees her boundlesse thoughts desire,
For longing fancies greedy eyes require:
Once Menga found her with Anton lesse coy
Then she could wish, his but to rob her joy.
Shame did suppresse her anger, but her teares
Did unrestrain'd betray her jealous feares.
What have I done, false shepheardesse she said,
That thou should'st all my happinesse invade?
Thou lov'st another, me hast dispossest,
Because stolne pleasures are to thee the best:
I've seen thee many love, but true to none,
Thou dost hereditary lightnesse owne:
Enjoy thine owne, not my delights remove,
Thou wrong'st thy beauty to molest my love.
Thus Menga, who against Teresa cries ,
When she begun to love, left to be wise.