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II.

1

Constantia, see, thy faithful slave
Dies of the wound thy beauty gave!
Ah! gentle nymph, no longer try
From fond pursuing love to fly.

2

Thy pity to my love impart,
Pity my bleeding aching heart,

274

Regard my sighs and flowing tears,
And with a smile remove my fears.

3

A wedded wife if thou would'st be,
By sacred Hymen join'd to me,
Ere yet the western sun decline,
My hand and heart shall both be thine.