Earl of Rochester
Too late, alas! I must confess,
— You need not arts to move me;
Such charms by nature you possess,
— 'Twere madness not to love ye.
Then spare a heart you may surprise,
— And give my tongue the glory
To boast, though my unfaithful eyes
— Betray a tender story.
— You need not arts to move me;
Such charms by nature you possess,
— 'Twere madness not to love ye.
Then spare a heart you may surprise,
— And give my tongue the glory
To boast, though my unfaithful eyes
— Betray a tender story.
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