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Then his breath grew short
And his pulse beat high,
He long'd to touch
What be chanc'd to spy,
With a fa, la, la, &c
But durst not still draw nigh.
All amaz'd he stood.
With her beauties fir'd.
And blest the courteous wind;
Then in whispers sigh’d,
And the Gods desir'd,
That Celia might be kind:
When with hopes grown bold,
He advanc’d amain;
But she laugh'd loud
In a dream and again,
With a fa, la, la, &c.
Repell d the timorous swain.
Yet the amorous youth,
To relieve his soft pain,
The slumbering maid caress'd;
And with trembling hand,
(O simple poor swain!)
Her glowing bosom press’d;
When the virgin awak'd,
And afrighted flew,
Yet look’d as wishing
He would pursue:
With a fa, la, la, &c.
But Damon mist his cue.
