He. When first my Biddy love profest <br />My rapture ran so high <br />Not Gentle S---s fondly prest <br />To beautious G---s panting breast <br />Was half so blest as I <br />She. When first my bard you taught my name <br />To sound in Song divine <br />Not S---s exalted fame <br />Tho S---s a P--- aim <br />I wishd instead of mine <br />He. But now the Muse thy late delight <br />You See thy rival prove <br />For night & day & day & night <br />To write & read & read & write <br />Is all ye life I love <br />She Forlorn yet senceless of ye pain <br />I to the Mirrour fly <br />Survey my self am Justly vain <br />And but I know my self again <br />For that dear face coud dy <br />He. But shoud thy Bard no longer pore <br />Wilt thou forsake thy glass <br />If I admire my works no more <br />Wilt thou to court thy shade give o're <br />And all be as it was <br />She Since none but we our rivals are <br />And none the lovers too <br />Be fond or void of am'rous care <br />I fond or vain of being fair <br />Yet both are ever true.<br /><br />Thomas Parnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-parody-of-donec-gratus-eram-in-a-dialogue-between-m-his-wife/
