A Song.

A SONG.

When first I saw Laurinda's Face, I bless'd the dear Surprize, For there was sporting every Grace; Love wanton'd in her Eyes.

A thousand ways she has to move, Not Looks and Smiles alone, Her Shape and Mien might Conquer Jove; And make the God her own.

But oh! the Fair displays her Charms, For Conquest, not Delight; Proudly denies those lovely Arms, To which her Eyes invite.