Poems (Philips)/Song to the Tune of Adieu Phillis

For works with similar titles, see Song.
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SONG. To the Tune of Adieu Phillis.

'Tis true, our Life is bur a long Disease, Made up of real Pain and seeming Ease. You Stars, who these entangled Fortunes give, O tell me why It is so hard to dye, Yet such a Task to Live? If with some Pleasure we our Griefs betray, It costs us dearer than it can repay. For Time or Fortune all Things so devours; Our hopes are crost, Or else the Object lost, E'er we can call it ours.

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