Cephalus
In vain, alas, your charms invade
A heart that is another's due;
Were she I love by me betray'd,
That falsehood would not merit you.
To make my wavering heart your prize,
In vain your soft'ning art allures;
While Procris by my falsehood dies
I never, never, can be yours.
A heart that is another's due;
Were she I love by me betray'd,
That falsehood would not merit you.
To make my wavering heart your prize,
In vain your soft'ning art allures;
While Procris by my falsehood dies
I never, never, can be yours.
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