THE merchant, to secure his treasure, <br /> Conveys it in a borrow'd name: <br />Euphelia serves to grace my measure; <br /> But Chloe is my real flame. <br /> <br />My softest verse, my darling lyre, <br /> Upon Euphelia's toilet lay; <br />When Chloe noted her desire <br /> That I should sing, that I should play. <br /> <br />My lyre I tune, my voice I raise; <br /> But with my numbers mix my sighs: <br />And while I sing Euphelia's praise, <br /> I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes. <br /> <br />Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd: <br /> I sung, and gazed: I play'd, and trembled: <br />And Venus to the Loves around <br /> Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled.<br /><br />Matthew Prior<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-46/
