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L'Am. Contre moi, qui peut t'animer ?

Iris, dans les bras te rapelle. Le P. Non, Iris eft une infidelle ;

Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'Am. Pour toi, j'ai pris soin d'enfamer

Le cour d'une beauté nouvelle;
Daphné-Le P. Non, Daphné n'est que belle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AN. D'un foupir, tu peux desarmer

Dirce, jusqu'ici fi sauvauge.
LE P. Elie n'est plus dans le bel age;

Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM.

DI AL OGUE

FROM

THE

FRENCH OF MONSIEUR DE LA MOTTE.

N° ;

PoET. .

Thy Tyrant Empire I abjure ;
My weary heart resolves to cure
Its wounds, and ease the raging pain.

Love. Fool? canst thou fly my happy reign?

Iris recalls thee to her arms.
Poet. She's false I hate her perjur'd charms j

No, Love I ne'er will love again.

Love. But know for thee I've toil'd to gain

Daphné, the bright, the reigning toast. Poet. Daphné but common eyes can boast;

No, Love I ne'er will love again.

Love. She who before scorn'd every swain,

Dircé, shall for one figh be thine. Poet. Age makes her rays too faintly Mine;

No, Love I ne'er will love again.

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I'AM. Mais si je t'aidois à charmer

La jeune, la brilliante Flore:
Tu rougis-vas-tu dire encore,
Amour, Je ne veux plus aimer ?

Le P. Non, Dieu charmant, daigne former

Pour nous une chaine éternelle ;
Mais pour tout ce qui n'est point elles
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

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Love. But should I give thee charms t'obtain

Flora, the young, the bright, the gay!
I fee' thee bluthnow, 'rebel, say,
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

Poet. No, charming God, prepare a chain

Eternal for that fair and ine!
Yet still know every fair but the,
I've vow'd I ne'er will love again.

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RECITATIVE.
BEHOLD where weeping Venus hands!

What more than mortal grief can move
The bright, th' inmortal Queen of Love ?
She beats her breast, she wrings her hands;
And hark, the mourns, but mourns in vain,
Her beauteous, lov'd Adonis, Nain.
The hills and woods her lors deplore ;
The Naiads hear, and flock around;
And Echo fighs, with miinick found,

Adonis is no more !
Again the goddess raves, and tears her hair;
Then vents her grief, her love, and her despair.

/

AIR.
Dear Adonis, beauty's treasure,
Now my forrow, once my pleasure ;

O return to Venus' arms !
Venus never will forsake thee;
Let the voice of Love o’ertake thee,

And revive thy drooping charms.

RE

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