Song 1
Forbear, God of Love , torment me no more!
Enough I've endur'd, give your Tyranny o'er!
Still must my fond Heart be for ever the Prize
Of Cloi 's, or Daphne 's, or Phillis's Eyes?
Must every Beauty , and every Grace
For me have a Charm? must you haunt ev'ry Place?
In Country , in Town ; in the Park , at the Play
You lead, mighty Power , my Fancy astray.
Of all the deep Wounds you e'er gave me before,
None deeper than this, since I Phaebe adore:
Men say, thou art blind ; but, alas! can it be?
For still I am wounded , and she's ever free .
Since then it is plain, you ne'er shoot in the Dark
O God of Desire! be coy Phaebe your Mark!
The Pains , she despises so much, let her know,
That once she may feel , what her Slaves undergo.
Enough I've endur'd, give your Tyranny o'er!
Still must my fond Heart be for ever the Prize
Of Cloi 's, or Daphne 's, or Phillis's Eyes?
Must every Beauty , and every Grace
For me have a Charm? must you haunt ev'ry Place?
In Country , in Town ; in the Park , at the Play
You lead, mighty Power , my Fancy astray.
Of all the deep Wounds you e'er gave me before,
None deeper than this, since I Phaebe adore:
Men say, thou art blind ; but, alas! can it be?
For still I am wounded , and she's ever free .
Since then it is plain, you ne'er shoot in the Dark
O God of Desire! be coy Phaebe your Mark!
The Pains , she despises so much, let her know,
That once she may feel , what her Slaves undergo.
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