She. Oh good, a Man, I swear!
and begs my Hand to kiss,
Methinks I'm pleas'd to hear
he does not call me Miss.
He. Your Eyes, sweet Lady shine so bright,
And I'm so wounded at first Sight,
My Heart does throb,
I sigh and sob,
And am like one just slain,
Unless you Pity show,
And Life restore again.
She. Nay, pray Sir, good Sir go,
I know not what you mean.
You may talk of a Wound
By my Eyes you have found;
But I cannot believe
Any Hurt they can give:
For I look in your Face,
And it is as it was,
And your Body is sound and whole.
He. Loves Wounds are all within,
whose Pangs the Breast controuls,
Like Lightning pass the Skin,
and blast the very Soul.
She. Why sure, this Love, this dreadful Word,
Is then some sharp and pointed Sword:
Or is't a Snake, Or is't a Bird,
That will pick out my Eyes.
He. Go with me, you'll perceive
in Love a Treasure lies,
She. I'll ask my Mother leave,
and follow in a Trice.
Page:Songs compleat, pleasant and divertive (Wit and mirth or, Pills to purge melancholy).djvu/65
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