Song.

SONG.

By the Same.

AS Chloe ply'd her needle's art, A purple drop the spear Made from her heedless finger start, And from her eyes a tear.

Ah! might but Chloe by her smart Be taught for mine to feel; Mine caus'd by Cupid's piercing dart, More sharp than pointed steel!

Then I her needle would adore, Love's arrow it should be, Indu'd with such a subtle pow'r To reach her heart for me.