Song. From Metastasio
FROM METASTASIO
Believe me, dear girl, when I swear,
Though a stranger you're yet to Love's pain,
There is something too soft in your air,
Too gentle for scorn and disdain:
Though the torments of Love you mayn't know,
Yet cruel you never can prove;
For Pity, though colder than snow,
Is still the forerunner of Love.
Believe me, dear girl, when I swear,
Though a stranger you're yet to Love's pain,
There is something too soft in your air,
Too gentle for scorn and disdain:
Though the torments of Love you mayn't know,
Yet cruel you never can prove;
For Pity, though colder than snow,
Is still the forerunner of Love.
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