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Ill-omen'd birds, how luckless was the day,
When o'er my love you did your wings display!
What wayward orb, what inauspicious star
Did then rule heav'n ? what gods against me war?
She who so much my fatal passion wrongs,
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Was known and first made famous by my songs.
I lov'd her first, and lov'd her then alone,
But now, I fear, I share her with the town.
Am I deceiv'd or can she be the same,
Who only to my verses owes her fame
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My verse a price upon her beauty laid,
And by my praises she her market made;
Whom but myself can I with reason blame?
Without me she had never had a name.
Did I do this, who knew her soul so well?
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Dearly to me she did her favours sell;
And when the wares were to the public known,
Why should I think she'd sell to me alone ?
'Twas I proclaim'd to all the town her charms,
And tempted cullies to her venal arms;
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