Robert Ayton

Old-Long-Syne

                 First Part.

Should old Acquaintance be forgot, 
	And never thought upon, 
The Flames of Love extinguished, 
 	And freely past and gone? 
Is thy kind Heart now grown so cold 
 	In that Loving Breast of thine, 
That thou canst never once reflect 
 	On Old-long-syne?

Where are thy Protestations, 
 	Thy Vows and Oaths, my Dear, 
Thou made to me, and I to thee, 
	In Register yet clear? 
Is Faith and Truth so violate 
	To the Immortal Gods Divine, 
That thou canst never once reflect 
 	On Old-long-syne?

Is’t Cupid’s Fears, or frosty Cares, 
 	That makes thy Sp’rits decay? 
Or is’t some Object of more Worth, 
 	That’s stoll’n thy Heart away? 
Or some Desert, makes thee neglect 
 	Him, so much once was thine, 
That thou canst never once reflect 
 	On Old-long-syne?

Is’t Worldly Cares so desperate, 
 	That makes thee to despair? 
Is’t that makes thee exasperate, 
 	And makes thee to forbear? 
If thou of that were free as I, 
 	Thou surely should be Mine: 
If this were true, we should renew 
 	Kind Old-long-syne.

But since that nothing can prevail, 
 	And all Hope is in vain, 
 From these rejected Eyes of mine 
 	Still Showers of Tears shall rain: 
 And though thou hast me now forgot, 
	Yet I’ll continue Thine, 
And ne’er forget for to reflect 
 	On Old-long-syne.

If e’er I have a House, my Dear, 
	That truly is call’d mine, 
And can afford but Country Cheer, 
	Or ought that’s good therein; 
Tho’ thou were Rebel to the King, 
	And beat with Wind and Rain, 
Assure thy self of Welcome Love, 
	For Old-long-syne.

                 Second Part.

My Soul is ravish’d with Delight 
	When you I think upon; 
All Griefs and Sorrows take the Flight, 
	And hastily are gone; 
The fair Resemblance of your Face 
	So fills this Breast of mine, 
No Fate nor Force can it displace, 
 	For Old-long-syne.

Since Thoughts of you doth banish Grief, 
	When I’m from you removed; 
And if in them I find Relief, 
	When with sad Cares I’m moved, 
How doth your Presence me affect 
	With Ecstacies Divine, 
Especially when I reflect 
	On Old-long-syne.

Since thou has rob’d me of my Heart 
	By those resistless Powers, 
Which Madam Nature doth impart 
	To those fair Eyes of yours; 
With Honour it doth not consist 
	To hold a Slave in Pyne, 
Pray let your Rigour then desist, 
	For Old-long-syne.

’Tis not my Freedom I do crave 
 	By deprecating Pains; 
Sure Liberty he would not have 
	Who glories in his Chains: 
But this I wish, the Gods would move 
	That Noble Soul of thine 
To Pity, since thou cannot love 
	For Old-long-syne.