Love Songs, &c, SONG

Belinda, see from yonder flow'rs The bee flies loaded to its cell; Can you perceive what it devours? Are they impair'd in show and smell?

So, though I robb'd you of a kiss, Sweeter than their ambrosial dew, Why are you angry at my bliss? Has it at all impovrish'd you?

'Tis by this cunning I contrive, In spite of your unkind reserve, To keep my famish'd love alive, Which you inhumanly would starve.