Strephon's Complaint on quitting his Retirement. Nahum Tate Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Tate, Nahum, c. 1652-1715. Poems by N. Tate. London Printed by T.M. for Benj. Tooke ... 1677 pp. 74-78. [15],133p.

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Strephon's Complaint on quitting his Retirement . I. BUsiness ! — Oh stay till I recover Breath , Th'astonishing Word puts my maz'd Spirits to Flight ; Business to me sounds terrible as Death , As Death to Lovers on their Bridal Night . Free as Air , but more Serene , The Series of my Life has been ; But I uncustom'd to the yoak , must now In stubborn Harness toil at the dull Plow . II . Then farewell Happiness , Repose farewell ! You come not where poor Strephon must Reside ' For you like Halcyons on calm Waters dwell , But Business is a rough and troubled Tide . Few Suns have ris'n since I was Blest , Of God like Liberty possest ; But Slave t'Employment now without Repose I'm ( Ghost-like ) hurry'd where my Daemon goes . III . But Business to Preferment will direct , And 'tis ev'n necessary to be Great . Ah have I then no more than this t'expect ? My stinted Hopes will starve on such thin meat . Impertinents ! Content I crave , And wildly you of Grandieur Rave ! If Life's at best a tedious rugged Road , What must it be with Grandieur's cumbring Load ? IV . Condemn'd to th' Town-Noise and Impertinence , Where Mode and Ceremony I must view ! Yet were the sight all Strephon cou'd dispense , But He must there be Ceremonious too . I fear my rural Soul's too plain To Learn the Towns dissembling strein ; For whilst I practize the slie Courtiers Art , I shall forget my self , and speak my Heart . V. When first th' unwelcome Tidings I receiv'd , Summon'd to bid my peaceful shades Adieu ; Scarce was I by my Fellow-Swains believ'd , 'Till streaming Tears prov'd my sad story True . Then pensive they my Doom resent , As 'twere to Death or Banishment ; But oh my Panalthaea's passionate moan Surpast her Sexes kindness , and her own . VI . Thus spake She with a forc't frown on her Brow , Will you be gone ? false Strephon , will you go ? Then go thy way ; go , for I Hate thee now ! But tell me , are you serious Swain , or no ? This is some new-found wile to prove ( Ridiculous Jealousie ! ) my Love : But whilst of mine this feign'd suspect is shown , You wou'd suggest that you've renounc'd your Own . VII . Thy Love chast Nymph deep in my Breast I laid , When first the precious Pledge I did receive , Nor have I thence the sacred store convey'd , Here , force the Cabinet ope and you'l believe ! You'l see with what a bleeding Heart , From these dear Shades and thee I part ; But rig'rous Fate — then on her Virgin Breast I lean'd my drooping Head , and wept the Rest . VIII . Oh Floods and Groves , beneath whose sacred shade I've sat as Happy as first Mortals were ; For when Distractions did my breast invade , Some rapt'rous Shepheard's Song redrest my Care . But 'bove the Flights of other Swains I priz'd my Astragon's soft streins ; For ( Turtle-like ) my pensive Astragon Is sweetly Sad and charming in his Moan .