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Song (Sylvia The Fair In The Bloom Of Fifteen)

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Written by John Dryden

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 Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green:
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed
By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast:
She saw the men eager, but was at a loss
What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.
"Ah!" she cried, "ah, for a languishing maid In a country of Christians to die without aid! Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least, Or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest, To instruct a young virgin that is at a loss What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; By their praying and whining, And clasping and twining, And panting and wishing, And sighing and kissing, And sighing and kissing so close.
" Cupid in shape of a swain did appear; He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near; Then showed her his arrow, and bid her not fear, For the pain was no more than a maiden may bear; When the balm was infused, she was not at a loss What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; By their praying and whining, And clasping and twining, And panting and wishing, And sighing and kissing, And sighing and kissing so close.


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