Cold as my solid Chrystal is,
Hard and impenetrable too;
Yet I am sensible of Bliss,
When your charming Eyes I view:
Even by me their Flames are felt;
And at each Glance I fear to melt.
Ah, how pleasant are my Days!
How my glorious Fate I bless!
Mortals never knew my Joys,
Nor Monarchs guest my Happiness.
Every Look that’s soft and gay,
Iris gives me every Day.
Spight of her Virtue and her Pride,
Every Morning I am blest
With what to Damon is deny’d;
To view her when she is undrest.
All her Heaven of Beauty’s shown
To triumphing Me——alone.
Scarce the prying Beams of Light,
Or th’ impatient God of Day,
Are allow’d so near a Sight,
Or dare profane her with a Ray;
When she has appear’d to me,
Like Venus rising from the Sea.
But Oh! I must those Charms conceal,
All too divine for vulgar Eyes:
Should I my secret Joys reveal,
Of sacred Trust I break the Ties;
And Damon would with Envy die,
Who hopes one Day to be as blest as I.
Keep, lovely Maid, the Softness In your Eyes,
To flatter Damon with another Day:
When at your Feet the ravish’d Lover lies,
Then put on all that’s tender, all that’s gay:
And for the Griefs your Absence makes him prove,
Give him the softest, dearest Looks of Love.
His trembling Heart with sweetest Smiles caress,
And in your Eyes soft Wishes let him find;
That your Regret of Absence may confess,
In which no Sense of Pleasure you could find:
And to restore him, let your faithful Eyes
Declare, that all his Rivals you despise.
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