Poems | ||
As
Celia rested in the shade
With Cleon by her side;
The swaine thus courted the young Maid,
And thus the Nymph replide.
CL.
Sweet! let thy captive, fetters weare
Made of thine armes, and hands;
Till such as thraldome scorne, or feare,
envie those happy bands
CE.
Then thus my willing armes I winde
About thee, and am so
Thy pris'ner; for my selfe I bind,
Vntill I let thee goe.
With Cleon by her side;
The swaine thus courted the young Maid,
And thus the Nymph replide.
CL.
Sweet! let thy captive, fetters weare
Made of thine armes, and hands;
Till such as thraldome scorne, or feare,
envie those happy bands
CE.
Then thus my willing armes I winde
About thee, and am so
Thy pris'ner; for my selfe I bind,
Vntill I let thee goe.
Poems | ||