SOON shall these bounteous springs thy wish bestow,
Soon in each feature sprightly health shall glow;
Thy eyes regain their fire, thy limbs their grace,
And roses join the lilies in thy face.
But say, sweet maid, what waters can remove
The pangs of cold despair, of hopeless love?
The deadly star which...
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DEAR little, pretty, fav'rite ore,
That once increas'd Gloriana's store;
That lay within her bosom bless'd,
Gods might have envied thee thy nest.
I've read, imperial Jove of old
For love transform'd himself to gold:
And why, for a more lovely lass,
May he not now have...