SONG.
69
Should some rude hand approach thee there,
Guard the sweet shrine thou wilt adorn;
Ah! punish those who rashly dare,
And for my rivals keep thy thorn.
III.
Love shall himself thy boughs compose,
And bid thy wanton leaves divide;
He'll shew thee how, my lovely Rose,
To deck her bosom, not to hide:
And thou shalt tell the cruel maid
How frail are Youth and Beauty's charms,
And teach her, ere her own shall fade,
To give them to her lover's arms.
