Metin
What haunts you there, in company will cease.
635
If to the gloomy desert you repair,
Your mistress' angry form will meet you there.
What makes the night less cheerful than the day?
Your griefs are present, and your friends away.
Nor shun discourse, nor make your house a cell;
640
Despair and darkness still together dwell.
To comfort you some Pylades admit,
Which is of friendship the chief benefit.
To death's cold arms what made poor Phyllis fly?
'Twas less her grief than want of company.
645
Wild as a bacchanal, her way she took,
With hair dishevell'd, and distracted look;
Far out to sea she cast her prying eyes;
Now stretched upon the sandy beach she lies:
"Faithless Demophoon!" to deaf waves she cried,
650
While sighs her interrupted words divide,
Hard by a lonesome tree its shadow cast,
As if for solitary mischief plac'd:
'Twas now her ninth sad visit to the shore;
