English poem
Ye little loves that round her wait
by Anonymous
Ye little loves that round her wait To bring me tidings of my fate, As CELIA on her pillow lies, Ah! gently whisper—STREPHON dies.
If this will not her pity move, And the proud fair disdains to love, Smile and say 'tis alla lie, And haughty STREPHON scorns to die.