Song XI., p.260.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

FIE! Liza, scorn the little arts, 

Which meaner beautys use, 

Who think they ne’er secure our hearts, 

Unless they still refuse; 

Are coy and shy; will seem to frown, 

To raise our passion higher; 

But when the poor delight is known, 

It quickly palls desire. 


Come, let’s not trifle time away, 

Or stop you know not why; 

Your blushes and your eyes betray 

What death you mean to die! 

Let all your maiden fears be gone, 

And love no more be crost: 

Ah! Liza, when the joys are known, 

You’ll curse the minutes past. 

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