English poem
A SONG. (Persuade me not, there is a Grace)
by Anonymous
Persuade me not, there is a Grace Proceeds from Silvia's Voice or Lute, Against Miranda's charming Face To make her hold the least Dispute.
Musick, which tunes the Soul for Love, And stirs up all our soft Desires, Do's but the growing Flame improve, Which pow'rful Beauty first inspires.
Thus, whilst with Art she plays, and sings, I to Miranda, standing by, Impute the Musick of the Strings, And all the melting Words apply.
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