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45

LI
SONG A-LA-MODE

O're the Desert, cross the Meadows,
Hunters blew the merry Horn;
Phœbus chas'd the flying Shadows:
Eccho, she reply'd, in scorn;
Still adoring,
And deploring:
Why must Thirsis lose his Life?
Rivers murmur'd from their Fountains,
Acrons dropping from the Oaks,
Fawns came tripping o're the Mountains,
Fishes bit the naked Hook[s];
Still admiring,
And desiring:
When shall Phillis be a Wife?