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A SONG.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


114

A SONG.

[Whilst on those blushing Cheeks I gaze]

I

Whilst on those blushing Cheeks I gaze,
I tremble and am all on Fire,
In pleasures of so blest amaze,
Thy Glances do but fan Desire.

II

Pity my Fault, dear Girl, if I
Eager to grasp thy sunny Frame,
Like an ambitious Meteor fly,
To perish in so bright a Flame.

III

Surely some Noble Hero fell
In that most precious Sea of thine,
And to reward his Courage well,
Venus has made him there to shine.

115

IV

Nor can this Beauty fade away,
For want of any new Supplies,
Regardless of the scorching Day,
Fed by those living Springs thine Eyes.