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Think in what perfect bliss you reign'd,
How lov’d before thy fall;

And now, alas ! how much disdain’d
By me, and scorn’d by all.

Yet thinking of each happy hour,
Which I with thee have spent,

So robs my rage of all its power,
That I almost relent.

But pride will never let me bow,
No more thy charms can move:

Yet thou art worth my pity now,
Because thou hads’ my love.

XVII.
SET BY MR. SMITH.

AccEPT, my love, as true a heart
As ever lover gave :

'Tis free (it vows) from any art,
And proud to be your slave.

Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant,
And let the giver live:

Who with it would the world have sent.
Had it been his to give.

And, that Dorinda may not fear
I e'er will prove untrue,

My vows shall, ending with the year,
With it begin anew.

XVIII.
SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

NANNY blushes when I woo her,
And, with kindly-chiding eyes,

Faintly says, I shall undo her,
Faintly, O forbear! she cries.

But her breasts while I am pressing,
While to hers my lips I join,

Warm'd she seems to taste the blessing:
And her kisses answer mine.

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While fretting I must lie alone,
Cursing the powers divine,

That undeservedly have thrown
A pearl unto a swine.

Then, Phillis, heal my wounded heart,
My burning passion cool;

Let me at least in thee have part
With thy insipid fool.

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All the swains on you attending
Show how much your charms deserve;

But, miser-like, for fear of spending,
You amidst your plenty starve.

While a thousand freer lasses,
Who their youth and charms employ,

Though your beauty theirs surpasses,
Live in far more perfect joy.

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HASTE, my Nannette, my lovely maid,
Haste to the bower thy swain has made ;
For thee alone I made the bower,
And strew'd the couch with many a flower.
None but my sheep shall near us come :
Venus be prais'd my sheep are dumb.
Great god of love take thou my crook,
To keep the wolf from Nannette's flock.
Guard thou the sheep, to her so dear;
My own, alas ! are less my care.
But, of the wolf if thou’rt afraid,
Come not to us to call for aid;.
For with her swain my love shall stay,
Though the wolf prowl, and the sheep stray.

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XXII.

SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

SINCE by ill fate I’m forc'd away,
And snatch'd so soon from those dear arms;

Against my will I must obey,
And leave those sweet endearing charms.

Yet still love on ; and never fear,
But you and constancy will prove

Enough my present flame to bear,
And make me, though in absence, love.

For, though your presence fate denies,
I feel, alas ! the killing smart;

And can with undiscerned eyes
Behold your picture in my heart.

XXIII.

SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

IN vain, alas ! poor Strephon tries
To ease his tortur’d breast;

Since Amoret the cure denies,
And makes his pain a jest.

Ah! fair one, why to me so coyo
And why to him so true,

Who with more coldness slights the joy,
Than I with love pursue 2

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