BALLAD. (Say flutt'ring heart)

Say flutt'ring heart, Why after days of sweet delight, Where conscious innocence bore part, Serene as smiling morn, peaceful as silver night, Or gay as noon, when Phoebus' beams shone bright.

Say, how one hour, One little instant, could remove That vacant careless joy? what power Inflict the torments we now prove; Cynthia forbid it ever should be love.

Dear goddess, for fair honour's sake, Relieve the torments we partake! Teach us to cure our am'rous fires, Or else permit us our desires;

And this with zealous care perform, Swift as the wind that rules the storm; Swift as the glowing god of day Darts from afar a downward ray, And so shall vot'ries to thy praise A thousand, thousand altars raise.