[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
WHilst I fondly view the charmer,
Thus the God of love I sue,
Gentle Cupid, pray disarm her,
Cupid, if you love me, do:
Of a thousand sweets bereave her,
Rob her neck, her lips and eyes,
The remainder still will leave her
Power enough to tyranize.
–
Shape and feature, flame and passion,
Still in every breast will move,
More is supererrogation,
Meer idolatry of love:
You may dress a world of Chloes
In the beautys she can spare;
Hear him, Cupid, who no foe is
To your altars, or the fair.
–
Foolish mortal, pray be easy,
Angry Cupid made reply,
Do Florella’s charms displease you,
Die then, foolish mortal, die:
Fancy not that I’ll deprive her
Of the captivating store;
Shepherd, no, I’ll rather give her
Twenty thousand beautys more.
–
Were Florella proud and sour,
Apt to mock a lover’s care;
Justly then you’d pray that power
Shou’d be taken from the fair:
But tho’ I spread a blemish o’er her,
No relief in that you’ll find;
Still, fond shepherd, you’ll adore her,
For the beautys of her mind.