 | Ayres and Dialogues |  |
Song 76. Pale envyous sickness
Pale envyous sickness,Hence no more possess
Our breast too cold before; in vain alass thou dost invade
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Could all thy malice but impair,
On those sweets which crown her fair,
Or steal the spirits from her eye,
Or kiss into a paler dye,
The blooming roses of her cheek,
Our suffering hopes might justly seek
Redress from thee, and thou might'st save
Thousands of lovers from the grave;
But such assaults are vain,
For she is too divine to stoop to thee;
Blest with a form as much to high for any change but Destinie;
Which no attempt can violate,
For what's her beauty is our fate.
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