C. Damon come drive thy flocks this way. D. No : 'tis too late they went astray. C. I have a grassy Scutcheon spy'd, Where Flora blazons all her pride. The grass I aim to feast thy Sheep : The Flow'rs I for thy Temples keep. D. Grass withers; and the Flow'rs too fade. C. Seize the short Joyes then, ere they vade. Seest thou that unfrequented Cave ? D. That den? C. Loves Shrine. D. But Virtue's Grave. C. In whose cool bosome we may lye
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