Celia has a thousand charms:
'Tis heaven within her arms.
While I stand gazing on her face
Some new and some resistless Grace
Fills with fresh magic all the place.
But while the nymph I thus adore,
I should my wretched fate deplore.
But, oh, Mirtillo, have a care,
Her sweetness is beyond compare.
But then she's false as well as fair.
Have a care, Mirtillo, have a care.
Not All My Torments Can Your Pity Move, Z. 400
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