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Song [Sylvia the Fair] 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. [John Dryden]
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;
[John Dryden]
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