Matthew Prior (1664–1721)

SURE, Chloe just, and Chloe fair,

Deserves to be your only care;

But, when you and she to-day

Far into the wood did stray,

And I happened to pass by,

Which way did you cast your eye?

But, when your cares to her you sing,

You dare not tell her whence they spring;

Does it not more afflict your heart,

That in those cares she bears a part?

When you the flowers for Chloe twine,

Why do you to her garland join

The meanest bud that falls from mine?

Simplest of swains! the world may see

Whom Chloe loves, and who loves me.