But solitude must never be allow'd;A lover's ne'er so safe as in a crowd.For private places private griefs increase;What haunts you there, in company will cease.If to the gloomy desert you repair,Your mistress' angry form will meet you there.What makes the night less cheerful than the day?Your griefs are present, and your friends away.Nor shun discourse, nor make your house a cell;Despair and darkness still together dwell.To comfort you some Pylades admit,Which is of friendship the chief benefit.To death's cold arms what made poor Phyllis fly?'Twas less her grief than want of company.Wild as a bacchanal, her way she took,With hair dishevell'd, and distracted look;Far out to sea she cast her prying eyes;Now stretched upon the sandy beach she lies:"Faithless Demophoon!" to deaf waves she cried,While sighs her interrupted words divide,Hard by a lonesome tree its shadow cast,As if for solitary mischief plac'd:'Twas now her ninth sad visit to the shore;No sail appears, and she'll expect no more:Her nuptial girdle round her waist was tied,Just o'er herhead a stretching bough she spied;She offers, and flies back, dreads what she dares;And, thus confus'd, the fatal knot prepares.Now, wretched Phillis, while this deed was done,I could have wish'd thou hadst not been alone.Let disappointed lovers warning takeBy thee, and never company forsake.