John Oldmixon (1673–1742)

PRITHEE, Chloe, not so fast,

Let’s not run and wed in haste;

We’ve a thousand things to do;

You must fly and I pursue,

You must frown and I must sigh,

I entreat and you deny.

Stay—if I am never crost,

Half the pleasure will be lost.

Be, or seem to be, severe;

Give me reason to despair:

Fondness will my wishes cloy,

Make me careless of the joy.

Lovers may of course complain

Of their trouble and their pain,

But, if pain and trouble cease,

Love without it will not please.