University of Virginia Library


109

THE CONQUEST.

I

When Phebus heard Ianthe sing
And sweetly bid the Groves rejoice,
Jealous He smote the trembling String,
Despairing, quite, to match her Voice.

II

Smiling, her Harpsicord She strung:
As soon as She began to play,
Away his Harp poor Phebus flung;
It was no Time for Him to stay.

III

Yet hold; before your Godship go
The Fair shall gain another Prize:
Your Voice and Lyre's outdone, you know;
Nor less thy Sunshine by her Eyes.