On Chloris Requesting Me to Give Her a Spray of a Sloe-Thorn in Full Blossom
From the white-blossom'd sloe, my dear Chloris requested
A sprig, her fair breast to adorn:
No, by Heavens! I replied, let me perish for ever,
Ere I plant in that bosom a thorn!
A sprig, her fair breast to adorn:
No, by Heavens! I replied, let me perish for ever,
Ere I plant in that bosom a thorn!
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