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3

SONG II. The Mistress.

I

'Tis not Beauty makes me love thee,
Tho' like Venus soft and Fair;
Nor for Wealth do I approve thee,
Yet who wou'd not be thy Heir?
Neither for thy Wit adore thee,
Where we so much Smartness find;
Or for Vertue fall before thee,
Tho' the best of Woman kind.

II

What (you'll say then) is th'Occasion
I such lasting Love pretend?
What can else beget a Passion
That must never know an End?
Fair, I'll tell thee—'tis thy Nature
That thus captivates my Mind;
Pitying the Imploring Creature,
You are proud of being kind.

III

Others tediously will tarry,
Loth to grant the Am'rous Boon,
Or expect a Man shou'd marry,
Tho h' had better turn Dragoon.

4

But while thus they deal precisely,
Making Love and endless Task,
You, my Angel, let us wisely
Have the Blessing when we ask.