The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 | ||
Scene 5th
PhedonTransporting sounds! O my enraptur'd soul!
Yes; I will be the friend of Socrates,
Will be myself, and will deserve Apame.
Thou shalt be mine; for sure the righteous powers
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With ev'ry happiness this earth can yield—
But talk'd she not of evils that might bar,
Might thwart our bliss? forbid it, heav'n!—the thought,
Shou'd I dwell longer on it, wou'd distract me.
I'll strive then to forget it, and away
To my expecting friends.
The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 | ||