I.

O H ! cease thy too harmonious Strain,
Nor thus my ravish'd Soul surprize;
What new Ideas, pleasing Pains,
Does by the sweet Inchantment rise?

II.

Lull'd by the dear bewitching Sound,
Each jarring Passion's charm'd to rest,
Yet my Soul feels a pleasing Wound,
And sweet Disorders fill my Breast.

III.

Forbear to show thy heavenly Art,
Nor aim a Conquest o'er my Mind;
By Musick soften'd to the Dart,
Love may an easy Entrance find.