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4.
[Come, pretty flowers, and drink my tears]
Come, pretty flowers, and drink my tears;
'Tis well my better reason chided,
Or I had box'd the rascal's ears,
That so the little dears derided!
'Tis well my better reason chided,
Or I had box'd the rascal's ears,
That so the little dears derided!
My ruth, not ire, the wretch demands;
The magic every cup adorning,
How could he feel?—saw he the hands
That placed them into mine this morning?
The magic every cup adorning,
How could he feel?—saw he the hands
That placed them into mine this morning?
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