SONG XXVIII.
To Mirtillo.
I
Silvia has a thousand Charms,
Her Look the hardest Heart disarms:
While I stand gazing on her Face,
Some new and some resistless Grace
Fills with fresh Magick all the Place!
Love his Darts around her throwing,
Her Breath Arabian Spices blowing,
And Venus was not half so knowing.
II
But while the Nymph we thus adore,
We shou'd our wretched Fate deplore;
For O Mirtillo! have a Care,
Her Sweetness is above compare,
But then she is more false than fair:
Her chief Delight is in undoing,
And tho' w'are certain of our Ruin,
There is no stopping when w'are going.
