Song: From Cynthia's Revels

O, that joy so soon should waste! Or so sweet a bliss As a kiss Might not for ever last! So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, The dew that lies on roses, When the Morn herself discloses, Is not so precious. O, rather than I would it smother, Were I to taste such another, It should be my wishing That I might die kissing.