A Blackmore Maid wooing a Fair Boy.
Why, Lovely Boy, why fly'st thou me
Why, Lovely Boy, why fly'st thou me, that languish in these flames for thee?
I'm Black, 'tis true; why, so is Night, and Love doth in Dark shades delight. The whole
world, do but close thine eye, will seem to thee as Black as I; or op't, and see what a Black shade
is by thine own fair body made, that follows thee where ere thou go: O who allow'd would not do so?
Let me for ever dwell so nigh, and thou shalt need no other Shade than I.
