Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace

Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace,

How happy should I prove,

Might I supply that envy'd place

With never fading love.

There Phoenix like, beneath her eye,

Involv'd in fragrance burn and die.

Know, hapless flower,

That thou shalt find more fragrant roses there.

I see thy with'ring head reclin'd

With envy and despair.

One common fate we both must prove,

You die with envy, I with love.