Soon as the ruddy morn diſplay’d
the beaming day enſuing,
I ⟨met betimes⟩ my lovely maid,
in fit retreats for wooing.
Beneath the cooling ſhade we lay,
gazing and chaſtely ſporting:
We kiſ’d and promis’d time away,
till night ſpread her black curtain:
I pitied all beneath the ſkies,
even kings, when ſhe was nigh me
In raptures I beheld her eyes,
which could but ill deny me.
Should I be call’d where canons roar,
where mortal ſteel may wound me,
Or caſt upon ſome foreign ſhore,
where dangers may ſurround me;
Yet hope again to ſee my love,
to feaſt on glowing kiſses,
Shall make my cares at diſtance move,
in proſpect of ſuch bliſses.
In all my ſoul there’s not one place
to let a rival enter;
Since ſhe excels in every grace,
in her my love ſhall center:
Sooner the ſeas ſhall ceaſe to flow,
their waves the Alps ſhall cover,
On Greenland ice ſhall roſes grow,
before I ceaſe to love her.
