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Song (Sylvia The Fair, In The Bloom of Fifteen) John Dryden (1631-1700) SYLVIA the fair, in the bloom of fifteenFelt an innocent warmth, as she lay on the green:She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessedBy the towzing and tumbling and touching her breast:She saw the men eager, but was at a loss,What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; By their praying and whining, And clasping and twining, And panting and wishing, And sighing and kissing, And sighing and kissing so close. Ah! she cried, ah! for a languishing maid In a country of Christians to die without aid Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least, Or a Protestant parson or Catholic priest To instruct a young virgin that is at a loss What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; By their praying and whining, And clasping and twining, And panting and wishing, And sighing and kissing, And sighing and kissing so close. Cupid in shape of a swain did appear,He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near,Then showed her his arrow, and bid her not fear,For the pain was no more than a maiden may bear;When the balm was infused, she was not at a lossWhat they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; By their praying and whining, And clasping and twining, And panting and wishing, And sighing and kissing, And sighing and kissing so close.
SYLVIA the fair, in the bloom of fifteenFelt an innocent warmth, as she lay on the green:She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessedBy the towzing and tumbling and touching her breast:She saw the men eager, but was at a loss,What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining, And clasping and twining, And panting and wishing, And sighing and kissing, And sighing and kissing so close.
Ah! she cried, ah! for a languishing maid In a country of Christians to die without aid Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least, Or a Protestant parson or Catholic priest To instruct a young virgin that is at a loss What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
Cupid in shape of a swain did appear,He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near,Then showed her his arrow, and bid her not fear,For the pain was no more than a maiden may bear;When the balm was infused, she was not at a lossWhat they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
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